/_/ 


DE   PARSTER   OF   DE   FUST   MKTHODIS'   CHURCH,  LIMITED."  [Page  32. 


DIALECT    TAL  ES 


BY 

SHERWOOD     BONNER 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW     YORK 

HARPER   &   BROTHERS,  FRANKLIN    SQUARE 
1883 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1883,  by 

II  A  R  P  E  R     &     15  R  O  T  H  E  R  S, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


All  rights  reserved. 


ElcMccitcli 

To    MY    DEAR    FRIEND     MRS.    S.   B.   S. 
WITH    LOVE    AND    GRATITUDE. 

ffer  angel  face. 

As  the  great  eye  of  Heaven,  sJiine<l  bright, 
And  made  it  sunshine  in  a  shady  place. 


930 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

THE   GENTLEMEN   OF   SARSAR 9 

ON   THE   NINE-MILE ,  38 

HIERONYMUS   POP   AND   THE   BABY 68 

SISTER  WEEDEN'S  PRAYER 8 1 

AUNT   ANNIKY'S  TEETH 93 

DR.  JEX'S   PREDICAMENT 107 

IN   AUNT   MELY'S   CABIN 1 19 

THE   CASE   OF   ELIZA   BLEYLOCK 134 

THE   BRAN   DANCE   AT   THE   APPLE   SETTLEMENT  ......  151 

LAME  JERRY 162 

JACK   AND   THE   MOUNTAIN    PINK 172 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

"DE  PARSTER  OF  DE  FUST  METHODIS'  CHURCH,  LIMITED"    .    .    .    Frontispiece 

"  Dis  AIN'T  NUTHIN'  SHORT  OF  MURDER,  IT  AIN'T" 25 

HlERONYMUS'S   CHARGE     . 68 

"  WHAT'S  DAT  ?" 69 

HIERONYMUS  SINGS  A  SOOTHING  DITTY 71 

DISPOSING  OF  TIDDLEKINS 74 

IN  SUSPENSE 75 

"  DE  WELL  !"  SHRIEKED  MOTHER  POP 77 

RESUSCITATING  TIDDLEKINS •  .  78 

HIERONYMUS  RETURNS 79 

TAIL-PIECE .  80 

"  MY  SOUL   AN'  BODY   is   A-YEARNIN'   FUR  A   HAN'SUM   CHANY   SET   o' 

TEEF" 94 

"  HONEY,  YER  AIN'T  HARF  AS  SMART  AS  YER  THINKS  YER  is !" 99 

"!T  wuz  ANNIKY'S  TEEF" 101 

"BLESS  YOU,  CHILE,  IT  wuz  DE  TEEF  I  WANTED,  NOT  DE  MAN!"     .    .    .  106 

"COULDN'T  I  SLEEP  IN  DE  KITCHEN?" 109 

DR.  JEX 112 

"  HOLD  ME!"  CRIED  THE  DOCTOR  .    .116 


10  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

PAGE 

REPAIRING  DAMAGES 118 

'•THE  PEDDLER  COULD  HARDLY  KEEP  BACK  A  SHOUT" .  145 

"SHE  LEANED  HER  HEAD  AGAINST  A  TREE" 149 

GRANDPA  APPLE 153 

"MARS'  TOM  SAY  HE  DONE  GIN  OUT  DE  NOTION" 1^6 

THE  BRAN  DANCE 157 

-JACK  APPLE  STEPPED  IN,  AN  OPEN  CLASP-KNIFE  IN  ONE  HAND"    .    .    .  160 

"'GOOD-DAY,'   HE   SAID,  TAKING    OFF    HIS    HAT" \  73 

"'NONE  o'  YO'  SHOOTIN','  SAID  SINCERITY" 179 

"No,  YOU  DON'T,  JACK  BODDY  !" 181 

"A  MOUNTAIN  PINK!" 187 


DIALECT  TALES. 


THE  GENTLEMEN  OF  SARSAR. 

I. 

OARSAR  !  The  very  name  of  the  place  was  sinister!  Who 
does  not  remember  De  Quincey's  "  Sarsar  wind  of  desola 
tion,"  and  the  chill  shudder  that  quivered  through  the  soul  as 
the  harsh  adjective  came  blowing  like  a  discord  into  the  music 
of  that  incomparable  writing? 

Not  a  misgiving,  however,  crossed  my  heart  when,  shortly 
before  Christmas,  my  father  asked  me  if  I  thought  myself 
possessed  of  the  qualifications  necessary  for  collecting  a  bad 
debt. 

"  The  business  of  collecting,  father,"  said  I,  with  what  ma 
licious  friends  called  my  "  prize-poem  manner,"  "  is  odious  in 
some  of  its  features  to  a  man  of  spirit ;  but  it  may  bring  into 
play  some  of  the  finest  faculties  of  the  human  mind." 

"  And  body,"  added  my  father,  in  a  quiet  sort  of  way. 

"  If  courage  is  needed,"  said  I,  laughing,  "  I  am  the  son  of 
my  State — the  State  that  does  not  know  how  to  surrender! 


10  DIALECT   TALES. 

As  for  tact,  civility,  address,  urbanity,  and  downright  stubborn 
ness,  these  desirable  qualities  are  surely  mine  by  right  of  in 
heritance." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  my  father,  meditatively,  "  it  is  a  pretty 
rough  place,  Sarsar  is.  The  debt  is  one  thousand  dollars ;  and 
if  you  get  this  sum,  or  any  part  of  it,  I  don't  mind  saying  it 
is  yours  for  a  Christmas-box." 

For  many  reasons  these  were  delightful  words.  First,  while 
I  fully  intended  that  my  life  should  teem  with  good  things,  at 
present  it  was  as  bare  and  empty  as  a  sun-dried  skull.  My 
father,  with  the  best  intentions  in  the  world,  was  so  indifferent 
to  the  doctrines  of  Malthus  as  to  become  the  parent  of  a 
perfect  brood  of  young  ones,  each  of  whom  had  to  stand  on 
his  own  legs  as  soon  as  they  were  strong  enough.  I  was  at 
the  beginning  of  my  career,  and  made  shift  to  get  on ;  but 
such  a  sugar-plum  as  a  thousand  dollars  had  never  dropped 
into  my  mouth.  As  befitted  my  slim  purse,  I  was  madly,  un 
utterably  in  love — in  love  with  Angie  Bell,  the  prettiest  girl, 
I  would  swear,  among  a  million  picked  beauties.  With  the 
thousand  dollars  fairly  mine,  I  should  be  able  to  offer  her 
those  delicate  attentions  man  delights  to  lavish  on  the  woman 
he  adores — buggy  drives  and  bonbons,  new  music,  books,  and 
bouquets.  Thus  I  should  weave  myself,  as  it  were,  into  her 
life,  keep  her  little  heart  in  a  perpetual  simmer  of  kindly 
feeling,  and  dispose  her  to  look  tenderly  on  my  encroaching 
passion,  nor  resist  when  its  tide  should  sweep  her  from  her 
moorings  into  my  arms.  Unless  —  reflected  I  —  it  might  be 
better  to  trust  to  winning  her  solely  on  my  merits,  and,  the 
betrothal  an  accomplished  fact,  spend  all  the  sum  in  the  pur- 


THE   GENTLEMEN  OF  SARSAR.  11 

chase  of  a  troth  gift  in  some  degree  worthy  of  her  inspiring 
beauty. 

Absorbed  in  the  pleasing  perplexity  of  such  a  question,  1 
was  only  aroused  from  my  reverie  by  my  father's  tones,  raised 
a  good  deal  above  their  ordinary  level. 

"  Yes,  old  Ruck  is  as  saucy  and  rough  a  tonic  as  any  man 
could  swallow.  You  will  need  all  your  mother-wit  in  dealing 
with  him.  The  old  scamp  swears  it  is  not  a  just  debt,  and 
pay  it  he  will  not." 

"  Sarsar  —  nothing  more  than  a  backwoods  settlement, 
is  it?" 

"  Nothing.  And  there  are  people  up  among  those  hills 
who  actually  try  to  vote  for  General  Jackson  to-day !  A  good 
many  worthless  negroes  have  congregated  in  the  place,  who 
fight,  quarrel,  and  steal  without  much  interference  from  any 
body.  There  are  a  lot  of  rough  fellows,  however,  calling  them 
selves  '  the  Gentlemen  of  Sarsar,'  who  regulate  things  after 
their  own  fashion.  Chief  among  them  is  your  man — Andy 
Rucker.  He  has  unbounded  influence  with  his  clientele,  and, 
they  say,  understands  how  to  use  the  shot-gun  better  than  any 
man  in  the  county." 

"  Never  think  to  daunt  me,  father,"  said  I,  briskly.  "  I  shall 
go  to  Sarsar,  and  shall  fetch  back  the  money." 

A  few  clays  later  I  got  off  at  a  station  ten  miles  east  of 
Sarsar,  and,  hiring  a  horse,  set  out  for  a  ride  across  the  coun 
try.  The  hills  were  steep,  the  road  rough,  the  people  rougher. 
At  the  cabins  where  I  stopped  to  ask  the  way  they  looked  on 
me  as  a  stranger  from  a  far-off  land. 

"  Do    git   down    and   look    at  your    creetur,"   was    their    in- 


12  DIALECT    TALES. 

variable  remark,  and  one  that  puzzled  me  exceedingly,  until  I 
found  it  was  an  hospitable  invitation  to  dismount  for  a  rest. 

Reaching  Sarsar,  I  was  directed  to  "the  Widow  Joplin's" 
as  a  place  of  entertainment.  The  widow,  a  tired -looking 
woman,  with  her  lips  drawn  down  at  the  corners  as  if  they 
needed  kissing  into  shape,  put  me  into  the  hands  of  a  bright 
mulatto  boy,  whom  she  called  Dee  Jay.  This  worthy  con 
ducted  me  to  my  chamber,  and  asked  if  I  would  like  some 
oysters  for  supper. 

"  Oysters,  by  all  means ;  a  couple  of  dozen,  fancy  roast." 

"  Lor',  marster,  we  ain't  got  so  many  in  de  house ;  an'  ef 
we  had,  I  'clar  to  gracious,  marster,  two  dozen  two-poun'  cans 
would  kill  you,  shoY' 

"  Cans  !     Is  it  canned  oysters  you  offered  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir — Cove.  We  had  some  fresh  ones  onct — I  disre- 
member  what  year  it  wtis.  But,  lor'!  we  didn't  know  how  ter 
open  'em,  an'  we  jest  pounded  away  at  'em  wid  brickbats  till 
Mars'  Andy  come  an'  showed  us  how.  Ain't  it  curus  how  dey 
kin  live  an'  breathe  de  breff  o'  life  shet  up  in  dem  tight 
shells  ?" 

Declining  to  enter  into  a  discussion  on  oysters,  I  asked  if 
"Mars'  Andy"  was  Mr.  Rucker. 

"  Yes,  sir.  Captin  Rucker  we  mostly  calls  him.  You 
acquainted  wid  him  ?" 

"  No ;  but  to  make  his  acquaintance  happens  to  be  my 
business  here." 

"  Is  dat  so  ?"  cried  Dee  Jay,  with  increased  respect  in  his 
tones.  "An'  I  made  sho'  you  wus  a-drummin'  for  seggars. 
Mars'  Andy  ain't  very  fond  o'  dem  drummin'  men,"  he  went 


THE  GENTLEMEN  OF  SARSAR.  13 

on,  confidentially ;  "  in  fac',  dey  ain't  popular  wid  none  o'  dem 
lazy,  long-legged  Rucker  boys.  Dey  kin  fairly  devil  a  stranger 
out  o'  toun  if  dey  takes  a  notion.  Hope  you  ain't  gwine  ter 
tread  on  de  captin's  toes,  marster.  He's  a  awful  man  to  have 
a  rassel  wid." 

"  He  must  be  a  terrible  fellow,"  said  I,  laughing. 

"  Lor',  dey  ain't  no  harm  in  Mars'  Andy.  He's  de  head 
man  in  dis  toun.  He's  as  full  o'  pranks  an'  capers  as  a  un- 
broke  colt ;  but  he's  got  as  much  sense  as  a  horse." 

With  that  compliment,  in  every  way  worthy  of  a  returned 
Gulliver,  my  innocent  Yahoo  took  me  to  the  Widow  Joplin's 
dining-room. 

Before  I  had  well  finished  my  supper  a  tall  man  strode  into 
the  room,  followed  by  two  of  the  daintiest,  prettiest  little  black- 
and-tan  thorough-bred  pups  I  had  ever  seen. 

"  How  Angie  would  dote  on  them  !"  thought  I. 

The  master  of  the  pups  was  a  noticeable  man.  Tall  and 
broad-shouldered,  with  clean-cut  features,  and  bright  black  eyes 
— so  far  not  differing  from  any  other.  But  his  hair  marked 
him  among  men  as  Samson's  among  the  Philistines.  Long 
and  heavy,  and  iron-gray  in  color,  it  fell  in  actual  ringlets 
to  his  shoulders,  and  gave  almost  a  look  of  ferocity  to  his 
countenance. 

"  A  character  !"  said  I  to  myself,  and  longed  to  hear  him 
speak. 

The  wish  was  not  allowed  to  grow  cold,  as  he  came  directly 
to  me  with : 

"  I  hear,  sir,  there  is  a  stranger  in  town  \vho  wants  to  see 
Andy  Rucker.  That's  my  name.  Yours  is — " 


14  DIALECT   TALES. 

44  Ned  Mere  wether,  at  your  service,"  said  I,  rising,  with  ex 
tended  hand.  "  You  have  met  my  father." 

44  Oh  yes ;  I  am  well  acquainted  with  Jack  Merewether," 
he  said,  giving  me  a  prolonged  look.  "  Well,  Ned,  let's  take 
a  drink." 

Knowing  the  offence  I  should  give  by  a  refusal,  I  assented, 
though  dreading  the  villanous  compound  I  should  have  to 
swallow  under  the  name  of  "  old  bourbon." 

One  drink  followed  another,  and  my  head  began  to  buzz 
a  little.  Several  men  dropped  in,  who  were  introduced  by  Mr. 
Rucker  as  kinsmen  and  friends.  I  proposed  a  health  to  "  the 
Gentlemen  of  Sarsar,"  and  the  scene  grew  convivial. 

"  What  d'ye  think  of  our  country,  mister  ?"  said  an  ill-look 
ing  youth,  whom  they  addressed  by  the  tender  title  of  "  Honey 
Rucker." 

44  It's  as  fine  a  country  as  I  ever  saw,"  responded  I.  "  But 
you  don't  have  many  rich  men,  I  suppose  ?" 

44  Rich  men !"  cried  Mr.  Rucker,  in  a  tone  of  compassion ; 
44  why,  youngster,  we  are  all  rich,  only  we  don't  like  to  show 
off.  Good  families — like  the  Ruckers — never  make  a  parade. 
Now  and  then  such  a  fellow  as  Yowell  wants  to  spread  him 
self.  You  remember,  boys,  how  he  went  to  old  Nathan 
Weeks's  funeral  ?" 

44  Rather  !"  said  Honey  Rucker,  in  a  gloomy  tone. 

44  It  was  a  big  funeral,  and  most  of  us  walked,  for  carriages 
are  unhandy  on  our  roads.  But  Yowell  wanted  to  make  a 
show,  so  he  and  his  must  ride.  He  and  his  wife  were  in  a 
four-wheeled  gig,  and  every  Jack  and  Gill  of  his  seven  chil 
dren  was  toted  by  a  likely  negro  boy,  who  sat  astride  a  two- 


THE  GENTLEMEN  OF  SARSAR.  15 

hundred-dollar  mule.  Now,  each  one  of  those  Africans  would 
have  sold  for  fifteen  hundred  dollars — aggregate,  ten  thousand 
five  hundred  dollars  ;  the  mules  summed  up  to  fourteen  hun 
dred  dollars — making  a  clean  sum  of  eleven  thousand  nine 
hundred  dollars  winding  along  these  hills  as  unconcerned  as 
a  snake.  What  do  you  think  of  that  for  style  ?" 

"  Quite  in  the  style  of  the  Arabian  Nights !"  said  I. 

" '  Better  worth  seeing  than  the  aurora  boreaks",  "  quoted 
Mr.  Honey  Rucker. 

"  Ah  !  there  are  some  queer  people  up  here  among  these 
hills,"  said  Captain  Andy,  with  a  shake  of  the  head. 

"  What  do  you  do  in  the  way  of  sport  ?"  asked  I. 

"Everything  —  chase  foxes,  run  deer,  spear  fish.  But  our 
grand  sport  " — with  sudden  animation — "  our  Christmas  frolic, 
is  a  nigger  hunt." 

"A  what?" 

"A  negro  chase  perhaps  you  would  call  it.  You  see,  our 
jail  is  such  a  ram -shackle  affair  that  it  is  next  to  impossible 
to  keep  a  prisoner  in  bonds,  if  he  has  any  get-up-and-get  in  his 
make-up.  The  rascals  break  out  and  take  to  the  hills.  And 
when  the  humor  takes  us  we  hunt  them  down." 

There  was  a  laughing  devil  in  Mr.  Rucker's  eye,  and  I 
knew  not  what  to  think.  Determined,  however,  not  to  seem 
unsophisticated,  I  said,  coolly, 

"  I  should  think  such  game  would  give  you  but  a  short 
run." 

"  Humph !   put  twenty  hounds  on  a  black  rascal's  track— 
they  can  scent  it  after  it's  a  day  old — and  he  will  run   faster 
than  a  deer,  and  out-manoeuvre  a  fox  in  dodging  corners." 

2 


16  DIALECT   TALES. 

"  Poor  souls !" 

"  They  haven't  any  souls,  I  fancy,"  said  Mr.  Rucker,  easily ; 
" '  poor  bodies '  would  be  more  to  the  point,  as  they  have  to 
clip  it  to  a  galloping  tune.  Come,  sir;  no  use  walking  on 
stilts  away  from  home.  Join  us  in  our  next  hunt." 

The  man  seemed  as  sober  as  a  christened  saint,  but  I  felt 
I  was  the  butt  of  a  joke,  and  secretly  resented  it. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  I,  "  I  did  not  come  here  to  make  acquaint 
ance  with  the  sports  of  the  gentry." 

"  And  may  I  presume  to  ask  why  you  did  come  ?"  inquired 
Mr.  Rucker,  with  vast  politeness. 

"  You  should  know  best,  sir,  as  I  represent  the  firm  of 
Avery  &  Merewether." 

"  Aha !  I  remember  something  was  said  of  certain  moneys 
that  your  people  fancied  I  owed  them." 

"  Fancy  me  no  fancies,  Mr.  Rucker  " — certainly  the  whiskey 
had  gone  into  my  head — "the  money  has  to  be  paid? 

"  And  you  are  the  man  that's  to  get  it  ?  Well,  well,  it 
would  be  a  pity  you  should  not  have  what  you  have  come  so 
far  to  gain — all,  and  more.  I  insist  you  should  have  more.  I 
myself  ought  to  make  you  a  little  gift." 

"  Very  well,"  I  said,  good-humoredly,  "  I  will  gladly  accept 
these  little  beauties" — and  I  caught  up  Mr.  Rucker's  pups. 

"  For  your  sweetheart  ?" 

u  For  the  prettiest  girl  in  the  county  !"  said  I,  laughing, 
and  with  a  warm  glow  at  my  heart  at  the  bare  thought  of  my 
lovely  little  angel,  Angie  Bell. 


THE  GENTLEMEN  OF  SARSAR.  17 


II. 

Awaking  with  a  clear  head  the  next  morning,  I  hurried 
out  to  seek  Mr.  Rucker;  but,  to  my  annoyance,  that  eccentric 
gentleman  was  nowhere  to  be  found.  Every  one  of  whom  I 
inquired  was  too  stupid  even  to  guess  at  his  whereabouts. 

"  De  captin  is  jes'  like  de  sun,"  said  my  sympathizing 
valet,  Dee  Jay:  "sometimes  he  will  shine  out  on  folks,  an' 
agin,  when  de  notion  takes  him,  he  will  go  under  a  cloud,  an 
you  can't  put  your  finger  on  de  place  whar  he  is  hid." 

"  And  how  long  is  it  his  majesty's  pleasure  to  stay  under  a 
cloud  ?" 

"It  'ud  take  a  wizard  man  to  tell  dat,  marster." 

"  I  went  to  his  house,  hoping  to  see  some  member  of  his 
family ;  but  no  one  came  to  the  door,  though  I  rapped  and 
pounded  half  an  hour." 

"  He  ain't  got  no  family.  De  Rucker  blood  is  purty  nigh 
run  out  in  dis  county." 

"  Why,  I  thought  every  other  man  in  it  was  a  Rucker." 

"  Well,  dey  is  mostly  cousins,  or  dey  jes'  tuk  de  name  fur 
glory.  Mars'  Andy  had  a  lot  of  brothers  onct,  an'  a  par;  but 
dey  wus  killed,  all  along  through  de  war — one  a-bushwhackin', 
one  a-fightin'  wid  Morgan,  one  wid  de  fever,  an'  so  on.  Mars' 
Andy  hisself  had  a  squeak  fur  his  life  onct  on  a  time.  He 
wus  lyin'  on  de  field  bleedin'  from  seventeen  or  eighteen 
wounds,  when  along  comes  a  calvary  man  a-swingin'  of  his 
saviour — " 

"  Dee  Jay  !  what  in  the  name  of  Heaven  are  you  saying?" 


18  DIALECT   TALES. 

"  Along  comes  a  calvary  man  on  a  big  black  horse, 
a-swingin'  his  saviour  in  de  air  till  it  looked  as  round  as  a 
cart-wheel  an'  flashed  like  de  moon  on  fire.  Mars'  Andy  shet 
his  eyes  an'  begun  ter  say  his  prayers;  when  pop!  bang!  off 
went  a  musket  from  behind  a  tree,  an'  down  went  Mr.  Rider 
jes'  like  a  grasshopper  when  a  turkey  gobbler  nips  him  off  a 
sweet-pertater  vine ! 

"  De  captin  tuk  on  mightily  about  our  side  gittin'  beat," 
continued  Dee  Jay,  encouraged  by  my  laughter;  "he  ain't  let 
his  hair  grow  sence  Vicksburg  fell,  an'  it  turned  grisly  gray 
dat  same  night.  It  was  jes'  struck  all  of  a  heap.  Dat's  why 
de  people  here  think  so  much  o'  Mars'  Andy.  Dey  has  sech 
respec'  fur  his  strong  feelin's." 

"  I  wish  his  strong  feelings  would  lead  him  to  pay  his 
debts,"  muttered  I. 

Mr.  Rucker  was  not  so  cruel  as  to  stay  under  a  cloud  all 
day.  In  the  afternoon  he  burst  into  my  room,  beaming  like 
the  sun  to  which  he  had  been  compared. 

"  It's  all  settled,  my  friend,"  he  cried. 

"  What !  the  debt  ?" 

"  Bother  the  debt !  A  question  of  money  should  not  arise 
between  gentlemen." 

"  Gentlemen  should  pay  what  they  owe,"  said  I,  grimly. 

"  Softly,  lad,  softly.  You  are  almost  on  the  point  of  being 
uncivil,  in  which  case  I  should  have  to  leave  you  to  yourself." 

Dreading  another  disappearance  on  Mr.  Rucker's  part,  I 
said,  . 

"  Really,  sir,  I  had  no  intention  of  being  uncivil.  What  is 
it  that  is  settled  ?" 


THE  GENTLEMEN  OF  SARSAR.  19 

u  The  chase — the  hunt  for  the  horny-heeled  son  of  Ham." 

"  That  joke  again  ?" 

"  No  joke  about  it.  There  is  an  idle  fellow  here  —  Bud 
Kane  by  name — who  was  caught  hog -stealing  about  a  month 
back.  He  has  been  hiding  among  the  hills,  and  we  think  it 
well  to  get  him  off  our  hands  before  Christmas." 

"You  wouldn't  kill  the  man?" 

"  Oh  no ;  only  scare  him  a  bit.  If  he  gives  us  a  good  run 
we  will  let  him  off  scot-free.  And  he  is  the  fleetest  scamp  in 
the  country.  Lucky  to  be  able  to  offer  you  such  sport." 

"  My  good  Mr.  Rucker,"  said  I,  attempting  to  speak  with 
great  moderation,  "  unequalled  as  such  sport  must  be,  you 
must  allow  me  to  decline  a  share  in  it.  You  know  my  object 
in  coming  here — " 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  interrupted  Rucker,  "  that  is  all  right.  I 
have  plenty  of  money  burning  for  your  pocket.  But  just  now 
I  can't  think  of  anything  but  the  merry  hunt !  Come !  let  us 
have  it  over,  and  then  to  business.  I  will  promise  that  you 
shall  be  fully  satisfied.  Perhaps,  however,  you  are  not  a 
rider  ?" 

It  was  silly  of  me,  but  I  was  really  piqued,  and  thought  I 
should  like  to  show  this  rough  man  of  Sarsar  whether  I  could 
ride  or  not.  I  reflected,  too,  that  it  might  be  well  to  humor 
his  wish  and  join  his  hunting-party  —  it  would  probably  turn 
out  some  portentous  joke  played  by  the  Gentlemen  of  Sarsar. 
After  it  was  "  played  out,"  Mr.  Rucker  could  hardly  fail  to 
meet  my  demands,  hand  over  the  money,  and  let  me  get  back 
to  civilization — civilization  and  Angie  Bell. 

"  Well,  well,"  said    I,  carelessly,  "  get  me  a  decent  mount, 


20  DIALECT   TALES. 

and  I'll  join  your  party,"  whereon  Mr.  Rucker  gave  a  tremen 
dous  grin  and  hurried  away. 

At  a  ridiculously  early  hour  the  next  morning  I  was 
aroused  by  a  wild  "  Halloo !"  under  my  window.  Looking 
out,  I  saw  the  Gentlemen  of  Sarsar  in  force — some  twenty  or 
more  vagabond-looking  fellows,  mounted  on  horses  too  nobly 
built  for  such  riders,  all  laughing,  gesticulating,  and  occasion 
ally  firing  at  the  incautious  chickens  roosting  in  the  trees 
about  the  house.  They  were  rigged  out  like  a  lot  of  banditti. 
Some  were  armed  with  rifles,  and  all  seemed  to  have  equipped 
themselves  with  what  was  left  over  from  their  war  equipments, 
including  horse -pistols  and  bowie-knives,  cavalry  boots  and 
devil-may-care  hats.  I  must  say  I  felt  uncommonly  ticklish — 
as  much  so  as  if  I  had  been  in  Arabia  with  a  set  of  Bedouins 
inviting  me  for  "  sport "  to  plunder  one  of  the  desert  caravans. 
However,  I  gulped  down  my  scruples  with  the  morning  cock 
tail  which  we  all  took  at  the  bar  of  the  Widow  Joplin,  and 
listened  patiently  while  Mr.  Rucker  gasconaded  about  the 
wonderful  shots  he  had  made,  the  tremendous  leaps  his  horse 
had  taken  over  gullies  and  logs. 

"Unless  you  can  stand  rip -racing  through  the  country  as 
if  you  were  trying  to  shake  hands  with  the  lightning,"  said  he, 
"  you  had  better  not  try  to  keep  up  with  the  hunt,  but  take  a 
stand  on  some  overlooking  hill — '' 

"  Mr.  Rucker,"  cried  I,  "  spare  yourself  any  fears  for  me !" 

"  All  right,  then.     Let's  be  off,  boys  !" 

They  leaped  to  their  saddles  with  Texan  agility ;  half  a 
dozen  stag-hounds  were  brought  to  the  front,  and  with  another 
"  Halloo  !"  we  were  off. 


THE   GENTLEMEN  OF  SARSAR.  21 

Never  shall  I  forget  that  ride.  The  keen  morning  air  was 
a  stimulus  that  thrilled  every  sense  to  alertness.  Mr.  Rucker 
carolled,  in  a  robust  voice : 

"Last  night,  in  my  late  rambles, 

All  in  the  isle  of  Skye, 
I  met  a  lovely  creature, 
All  in  the  mountains  high." 

But  the  only  lovely  creature  we  met  was  the  lady -moon- 
queen  of  this  wild  world  of  wood  and  mountain  and  stream, 
now  almost  out  of  sight,  as  day  was  beginning  to  dawn.  The 
hills,  near  and  far,  rose  like  waking  giants  to  meet  the  pale, 
blinking  stars ;  lights  twinkled  from  the  valley  below ;  little 
piping  birds  mingled  their  shrill  notes  with  the  sound  of  the 
wood-chopper's  axe. 

We  rode  at  a  brisk  trot,  Mr.  Rucker  and  I  in  the  rear. 
Suddenly  a  cry  was  heard  from  one  of  the  advance-guard.  I 
pressed  forward,  my  mind's  eye  filled  with  a  fine  buck  who 
sniffed  the  "  tainted  gale "  and  sprung  with  beautiful  fear 
from  his  pursuers.  Instead  of  which  I  saw  a  figure  on  two 

legs — but 

"  Whether  man  or  woman, 

Whether  ghoul  or  human," 

I  could  not  tell  at  the  distance  —  spring  across  the  field  as  if 
Satan's  fiends  were  after  him. 

From  this  time  all  is  confusion  in  my  memory.  Wild, 
wild  riding  I  recall,  and  a  sense  of  reckless  delight  that  vented 
itself  in  shrill  cries  to  my  horse.  The  sun  was  just  darting 
up  in  slim  scarlet  lances.  A  light  wind  blew,  and  the  very 
drops  of  blood  in  my  veins  seemed  to  dance  like  the  pine- 


22  DIALECT   TALES. 

needles  in  the  wind.  What  we  pursued  I  no  longer  knew.  I 
was  beside  myself  with  the  passion  of  the  chase.  Logs,  bogs, 
nor  brooks  appalled  me.  Fences  and  gullies  were  as  shadows 
leaped  over  in  a  dream.  The  infernal  baying  of  the  hounds 
was  music  to  my  ear.  Noble  sport  this,  truly !  Now  and 
then  there  was  a  glimpse  of  a  flying  figure — a  male  Atalanta 
bounding  over  the  ground  with  splendid  speed ;  and  finally 
a  sudden  pull-up  —  a  something  at  bay  —  and  a  sound  of  rifles 
snapping  arid  hounds  yelping. 

"  Fire,  lad,  fire !"  cried  Mr.  Rucker. 

"  For  God's  sake  tell  me — is  it  a  man  ?" 

"  Fire  in  the  air,  if  you  have  any  doubt,"  he  said,  with  a 
great  laugh,  and  firing  his  own  rifle  at  a  tree-top.  Wild  with 
excitement,  I  essayed  to  do  the  same.  My  horse  plunged— 
my  gun  went  off  —  an  awful  cry  followed  the  report,  and  a 
voice  shrieked:  "He  has  killed  him!  He  has  shot  Bud 
Kane !" 

I  leaped  from  my  horse  and  rushed  to  the  spot.  There, 
truly,  lay  a  man  —  a  muscular,  finely -shaped  young  negro, 
entirely  nude  but  for  a  fox -skin  thrown  over  his  shoulders. 
He  was  panting  heavily,  and  his  blood  was  staining  the  yellow 
sedge-grass. 

I  could  not  believe  my  eyes.  I  was  almost  distracted. 
Had  /  done  this  horrible  deed  ?  Had  I  slain  an  inoffensive 
fellow -creature,  whose  hands  were  certainly  clean  toward  me, 
no  matter  how  many  Sarsar  hogs  he  had  stolen  ?  Innocent 
I  felt  myself,  yet  guilty  with  a  horrible  guiltiness ;  for  there 
lay  the  poor  wretch  bleeding,  like  Marco  Bozzaris,  and  not 
a  man  among  them  all  spoke  a  word  of  comfort. 


THE  GENTLEMEN  OF  SARSAR.  23 


III. 

A  LITTER  was  made  of  the  boughs  of  pine-trees  and  Bud 
Kane  lifted  upon  it.  Mr.  Rucker  and  I  rode  in  advance  of 
the  bearers,  to  prepare  Bud's  mother  for  the  reception  of  her 
son. 

"  Man  alive !"  cried  Andy,  impatiently,  "  why  did  you  not 
fire  in  the  air  ?  Did  you  not  see  we  were  all  doing  so  ?" 

"  I  saw  nothing.  Why  did  you  lead  me  into  such  a  devil's 
business  ?" 

"My  dear  Mere  wether,"  he  said  in  a  cool,  dry  tone,  "  like 
Shakspeare's  Jew,  you  bettered  my  instruction." 

At  the  door  of  a  particularly  mean -looking  cabin  Mr. 
Rucker  called  a  halt.  A  veritable  hag  sat  in  the  door-way — 
old,  black,  lean,  and  wrinkled,  but  with  a  head  of  crisp  wool 
as  bushy  as  a  box -plant.  This  person  was  engaged  in  the 
curious  operation  of  "roping"  her  hair  —  that  is,  dividing  it 
into  small  strands,  each  one  of  which  was  wrapped  tightly  to 
its  end  with  a  white  cotton  string. 

"  Hello,  Aunt  Diana !"  said  Mr.  Rucker. 

"  Why,  Mars'  Andy !  Dat  you  ?  What  brings  you  here 
dis  hour  in  de  mornin'  ?  Want  a  drink  o'  buttermilk  ?" 

"No;  I've  some  bad  news  for  you.  Bud  has  met  with  an 
accident." 

"  What's  dat  you  tell  me  ?" 

She  sprung  to  her  feet.  Anything  more  uncanny  and 
witch-like  than  her  appearance  cannot  be  imagined.  On  one 
side  of  her  head  her  hair  stood  out  like  an  electrified  mane, 


24  DIALECT   TALES. 

evidently  fresh  from  a  vigorous  carding ;  on  the  other  it  lay 
flat  in  little  snaky  cotton  twists.  Her  eyes  rolled  till  they 
seemed  all  white.  One  hand  was  on  her  hip ;  the  other 
stretched  toward  us  with  clinched  fist. 

Mr.  Rucker  ran  over  the  details  of  the  accident  without 
mentioning  my  name.  But  she  pinned  me  on  the  spot. 

"  I  s'pose  you  did  it,"  she  said,  "  seein'  as  you  are  a 
stranger?  Der  ain't  none  o'  de  boys  here  would  a-been  so 
clumsy." 

"  Yes,  my  horse  reared,  and  my  gun  went  off  accidentally. 
I  am  very  sorry — " 

"  Sorrow  don't  butter  no  corn-pone,"  she  interrupted,  in  a 
high  key.  "  I  mistrusted  sompen  wrong  yesterday  when  Mars' 
Andy  Rucker  wus  here  persuadin'  Bud  ter  take  part  in  his 
onmannerly,  onchristian  rampage." 

"  What,"  cried  I,  in  a  passion  in  my  turn,  "  it  was  a  sell, 
then,  after  all  ?" 

Mr.  Rucker  smiled  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  You  would  a-thought  so,"  screamed  Mother  Kane,  "  if  you 
had  a-heerd  him  beggin'  Bud  an'  bribin'  him  to  take  de  job. 
Bud  warn't  noways  anxious  to  dress  hisself  up  in  a  fox-skin 
an'  go  tarin'  over  de  country,  an'  let  de  hounds  be  turned  loose 
on  him.  But  says  Mars'  Andy,  '  We  will  post  horses  in  de 
thickets,  so  that  you  can  ride  from  one  point  to  annudder,  arT 
save  your  strength  to  dash  across  de  open  fields  an'  keep 
ahead  o'  de  hunt.  An'  it  will  be  a  big  frolic,  Bud,'  he  says; 
'an'  when  it's  done  you  shell  have  a  quart  o'  rum  an'  five 
dollars  fur  de  night's  work.'  Five  dollars  looked  big  enough 
to  cover  de  sun  an'  moon,  it  did !  So  he  gin  his  consent,  an' 


THE   GENTLEMEN  OF  SARSAR.  27 

here's  de  end  of  it — Bud  killed,  an'  me  left  ter  scuffle  along  de 
heavenly  powers  knows  how !" 

She  threw  her  apron  over  her  head  and  began  to  weep. 

"  I  knowed  mischief  wus  comin',"  she  sobbed.  "  Twarn't 
on'y  las'  week  dat  ole  Debby,  de  witch  'ooman,  tole  my  fortune 
on  de  shoulder-blade  of  a  sheep,  an'  likewise  de  bres'-bone  of 
a  goose.  '  Troubles  dark  an'  many,'  she  says,  '  an'  a  funeral  in 
de  house,  an'  a  hard  row  ter  hoe  !'  An'  I  jis  tell  you,  young 
man" — dropping  her  apron  and  shaking  her  extraordinary  old 
head  at  me — "/'//  have  de  law  of  you.  Dis  ain't  nuthin'  short 
of  murder,  it  ain't." 

"  It  was  an  accident,"  I  cried ;  "  and  whatever  I  can  do  to 
make  amends  you  may  be  sure  I  will  do." 

"  Den  you  kin  jist  han'  me  over  some  money  fur  de  funeral 
expenses  an'  odder  matters." 

"  How  much  do  you  want  ?" 

ujes'  put  it  to  yourself,  sir.  Don't  you  think  if  you  wus 
tore  away  from  your  pa,  an'  his  ole  age  left  widout  support,  he 
would  ax  a  purty  high  figger  to  cover  de  loss  ?" 

"  I  think,"  said  I,  with  much  internal  bitterness,  "  if  my 
father  could  see  me  at  this  moment  he  would  think  twenty- 
five  dollars  a  high  value  for  my  head." 

u  Well,  gimme  dat,  marster,  an'  I'll  be  satisfied." 

I  handed  her  the  sum,  and  we  left  the  house,  just  as  the 
men  bearing  Bud  on  the  litter  came  in  sight  and  the  old 
mother  began  her  distracting  screams. 

"  Rucker,"  said  I,  as  we  rode  away — "Rucker" — and  my 
voice  trembled  with  rage — "as  I  am  a  living  man  you  shall 
give  me  satisfaction  for  this." 


28  DIALECT   TALES. 

"  Let  a  harmless  jest  go  by,"  he  said,  coldly,  "  and  consider 
your  own  position.  I  am  bound  to  tell  you  that  you  are  in 
some  danger.  The  negroes  here  are  a  wild  lot,  and,  backed 
by  certain  lawless  white  men  I  could  mention,  would  just  as 
soon  lynch  you  as  not." 

"  That  I  own  would  be  quite  in  keeping  with  what  I  have 
seen  of  the  Gentlemen  of  Sarsar.". 

"  We  will  discuss  the  matter  farther  when  you  are  rested. 
You  look  fagged  out,"  said  Mr.  Rucker,  with  an  air  of  paternal 
interest. 

At  the  Widow  Joplin's  I  shut  myself  into  my  room,  and, 
throwing  myself  on  my  bed,  fell  into  as  profound  a  sleep  as  if 
to  shoot  a  man  before  breakfast  was  nothing  more  serious 
than  to  bag  a  lot  of  birds. 

Toward  noon  Mr.  Rucker  came  back.  His  face  was  drawn 
into  solemn  lines,  his  ringlets  hung  damp  and  uncurled. 

"  Kane  is  dead,"  he  said. 

"  No  !" 

"  The  wound  seemed  a  trifle  at  first ;  but  traumatic  tetanus 
set  in,  and  he  went  off  like  a  shot." 

"  I  would  give  my  right  hand  to  undo  this  morning's 
work." 

"  Come,  man,  don't  be  cast  down.  My  advice  is  that  you 
come  with  me  at  once  to  a  magistrate  and  give  yourself  up. 
I  will  go  bail  for  your  appearance  at  the  April  court.  I  need 
not  ask  if  you  will  be  sure  to  be  on  hand  ?" 

"  If  I  allow  you  to  be  my  bondsman  such  a  question  is  an 
insult,"  said  I,  haughtily. 

"  Exactly.     I  will  go  your  bail  for — say  two  thousand  dol- 


THE  GENTLEMEN  OF  SARSAR.  29 

lars.  And  since  this  sum,  like  the  rod  of  Aaron,  swallows 
up  the  smaller  amount  you  came  to  collect,  we  will  let  that 
matter  rest  over  until  you  come  on  to  your  trial — eh  ?" 

"  I  am  in  your  hands,  Mr.  Rucker,"  said  I,  fiercely,  and 
feeling  like  a  rat  in  a  trap,  "  and  have  no  alternative  but  to 
do  as  you  suggest.  But  my  father  will  be  here  as  my  legal 
adviser,  and  I  can  tell  you  this  whole  thing  will  be  well  sifted." 

"  Your  father  may  count  on  my  aid  and  friendship,"  said 
Mr.  Rucker,  with  the  air  of  a  generous  potentate,  "  both  for 
his  sake  and  yours." 

As  he  spoke  there  was  a  rap  at  the  door,  and  a  trim 
mulatto  girl  answered  to  my  "  Come  in."  There  was  a  gypsy 
beauty  in  her  bold  black  eyes,  and  mischief  lurked  in  the  cor 
ners  of  her  mouth ;  but  she  made  a  tolerably  modest  courtesy, 
and  said, 

"  If  you  please,  sir,  I  wus  gwine  ter  be  married." 

"  That  is  not  surprising,"  said  Mr.  Rucker,  seeing  me  at  a 
loss  how  to  reply  to  this  unexpected  confidence.  "  I  should 
think  all  the  young  bucks  in  the  country  would  be  after  you." 

"  I  ain't  gwine  ter  boast  o'  dat,  Mars'  Andy,  for  you  knows 
I  never  wus  one  o'  dem  flirtin',  owdacious  gals  dat  would  jest 
as  soon  sleep  in  de  calaboose  as  anywhar  else.  But  I  wus 
gwine  ter  marry  decent  an'  respectable  as  any  white  lady,  an' 
have  a  gold  ring  an'  piller-shams.  An'  now  he's  gone  an'  got 
killed,  and  I  ain't  got  nobody  ter  marry ;  and  I  jes'  wish  I  was 
dead,  too." 

Here  she  began  to  weep,  and,  with  a  pang  at  the  heart,  I 
realized  that  before  me  stood  another  victim  of  my  fatal  shot. 
It  was  Bud  Kane  whom  she  was  to  marry! 


30  DIALECT   TALES. 

"  My  poor  girl — "  said  I. 

"  Don't  you  poor  girl  me !"  she  cried,  viciously.  "  I'm  jest 
as  free  as  anybody,  and  I  don't  want  no  foolin'  nor  soft  talk 
from  you  nor  no  other  white  gentleman  !" 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  ?"  said  I,  roughly. 

"  My  circumstances  is  these,"  she  said,  checking  her  tears : 
"  that  I  have  give  up  a  good  place  I  had  at  five  dollars  a 
month,  an'  have  spent  all  my  savin's  an'  givin's  a-buyin'  weddin' 
clothes  an'  a  feather-bed,  which  I  am  meanin'  to  swap  off  to 
the  Widder  Joplin  for  the  tombstone  of  her  fust  husband,  an' 
set  it  up  over  poor  Bud ;  the  verses  on  it  bein'  ekally  uppro- 
prite,  as  they  only  says  : 

*  He  wus  too  bright  fur  earth, 
He  wus  taken  from  our  hearth. 
Of  angels  ther  wus  a  dearth, 
So  they  welcomed  him  with  mirth.'  " 

"That  is  a  fine  idea  of  yours,"  said  Mr.  Rucker;  "but  you 
wander  from  the  point." 

"  No,  sir,  I'm  jest  a-comin'  to  it.  Seein'  as  I  am  all  thro  wed 
out  an'  disadvantaged,  I  thought  if  I  had  ten  or  twelve  dollars 
I  could  go  to  town,  an'  git  a  place  an'  earn  my  livin' ;  an'  it 
looked  like  de  gentleman  dat  shot  Bud  ought  tu  holp  me 
along  a  little  to  kerry  out  my  projecs  an'  git  de  better  o'  my 
afflictions." 

My  hand  was  in  my  pocket.  I  pulled  it  out  holding  a  bill, 
and  bade  good-bye  to  Bud  Kane's  interesting  sweetheart. 

"You  did  well,"  said  Mr.  Rucker;  "a  policy  of  conciliation 
now,  by  all  means." 


THE  GENTLEMEN  OF  SARSAR.  31 

Our  business  at  the  magistrate's  was  soon  transacted ;  but 
after  leaving  his  office  we  found  it  a  matter  of  difficulty  to  get 
past  the  crowd.  A  mob  of  negroes  had  collected,  and:  mut 
tered  threats  made  my  blood  run  cold.  Plainly  Sarsar  was  no 
longer  a  safe  place  for  me. 

On  reaching  the  inn  I  found  myself  awaited  at  the  door  of 
my  room  by  an  imposing-looking  old  darkey,  with  white  hair 
and  a  stout  cane. 

"  Good  -  day,  sir,"  said  he.  "  If  your  name  is  young  Mr. 
Merewether  I  would  like  a  few  words  wid  you." 

"  All  right,  uncle ;  come  in."  And  I  threw  open  the  door 
and  flung  myself  into  a  chair. 

"  Give  me  de  satisfacshun  to  intreduce  myse'f,"  said  the  old 
man,  with  dignity,  "  as  de  parster  of  de  Fust  Methodis'  Church, 
limited." 

"  Limited  to  what  ?"  said  I,  profanely. 

"  To  de  godly  an'  to  de  seekers ;  an'  to  dis  latter  class  our 
departed  brudder,  Bud  Kane,  belonged.  He  wus  a  seekin' 
sperrit." 

"  Bud  Kane  again  !" 

"  Dat  pore  wild  lad  lost  his  life  as  so  many  of  our  color 
loses  der  manly  sperrit — by  submittin'  to  de  white  folks  as  if 
dey  wus  monkeys  instid  o'  men.  But,  in  despite  of  Bud  bein' 
in  some  sort  a  son  of  Belial,  he  wanted  ter  do  what  wus  right ; 
an'  he  hed  agreed  ter  give  us  a  small  sum  toward  erectin'  a 
edifice  fur  prayer  an'  praise,  de  present  meetin'-  house  bein' 
subject  to  rats,  an'  bats,  an'  rain,  an'  de  bad  boys  of  Sarsar." 

"  I  really  don't  see  how  this  matter  concerns  me  /"  cried  I, 
though,  alas !  I  did  see  with  fatal  clearness  what  he  was  after. 

3 


32  DIALECT   TALES. 

"  I  wus  thinkin',  marster,"  he  said,  severely,  "  dat  it  mought  be 
a  sort  o'  balm  o  Gilead  to  your  conscience  to  supply  dat  sum." 

"  Better  give  him  a  trifle,"  whispered  Mr.  Rucker ;  "  he  has 
great  influence  among  the  blacks." 

There  was  no  help  for  it.  A  five-dollar  bill  passed  from 
my  keeping  into  that  of  the  "  parster  of  the  Fust  Methodis' 
Church,  limited." 

I  began  to  pack  my  portmanteau. 

"  What  are  you  about  ?"  said  Mr.  Rucker. 

"  About  to  leave  your  town.  I  can  catch  the  night  train 
at  L—  -  by  making  good  speed." 

"  So  you  can ;  but  take  my  advice  again  and  leave  that 
luggage." 

"  Leave  my  portmanteau  ?     But  why  ?" 

"  You  won't  be  allowed  to  get  away.  The  people  are 
keeping  watch.  I  can  manage  it,  however.  Start  out  with 

me  as  if  for  a  friendly  ride,  and  we  can  get  on  to  L with 

nobody  the  wiser;  but  if  you  start  out  with  that  carpet-sack  I 
won't  answer  for  the  consequences.  I  can  send  it  after  you  in 
a  day  or  so." 

Again  I  had  to  submit  —  anything  to  get  out  of  the 
accursed  place. 

We  mounted  our  horses,  Mr.  Rucker  ostentatiously  remark- 

• 
ing  that  we  were  going  out  for  a  little  ride. 

"  You  won't  let  him  get  away,  Mars'  Andy  ?"  cried  a  voice. 

"Have  no  fear,  boys  —  he  is  in  Andy  Rucker's  charge!" 
exclaimed  another. 

Once  away  from  them,  I  thought  my  trials  at  an  end.  But 
there  were  yet  other  ordeals  in  store.  From  a  cabin  a  shade 


THE   GENTLEMEN  OF  SARSAR.  33 

more  dingy  than  Mother  Kane's  there  rushed  out  a  fat  black 
female,  with  three  or  four  children  hanging  to  her  skirts. 

"  Stop,  stop,  gentlemen  !"  she  cried,  and  we  reined  in  ac 
cordingly.  She  laid  her  hand  on  the  bridle  of  my  horse. 

"  Ain't  you  de  gentleman  dat  killed  Bud  Kane  ?"  she  asked. 

Bud  Kane's  name  was  fast  becoming  the  red  rag  to  the  bull. 

"  What's  that  to  you  ?"  roared  I. 

"  Jest  this,  sir — these  is  Bud's  chillern." 

"  I  wonder  if  there  is  anything  or  anybody  in  this  town 
that  Bud  Kane  is  not  in  some  way  connected  with  ?"  said  I, 
violently.  "  I  suppose  you  want  a  little  money  to  buy  a  black 
frock  ?" 

"  I  ain't  pertickeler  es  ter  the  frock,  but  I  need  the  money 
powerful  bad  to  help  raise  the  chillern,  fur  Bud  always  wus 
mighty  fond  of  'em" — and  she  too  began  to  weep.  "He 
always  said  he  meant  ter  have  Julius  Caesar  educated.  He 
wus  de  favorite,  because  he  wus  de  oldest,  an'  de  fust  chile 
Bud  ebber  had.  Den  he  made  a  gret  pet  o'  Leonidas, 
because  he  wus  de  youngest  an'  prized  accordin' ;  an'  de  gal 
— Mary  Marge  ret — " 

"  Why,  look  here,"  said  I,  "  I  have  just  seen  a  girl  who  told 
me  she  was  going  to  marry  Bud." 

"  Yes,  sir,  he  tole  me  he  wus  gwine  ter  marry.  He  wanted 
me  to  have  him,  but  lor !  I  wouldn't  marry  Bud,  because  he 
didrit  belong  to  de  church  /" 

I  looked  at  Mr.  Rucker.  A  grin  convulsed  his  features. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  said.  I  gave  some  money  to  the 
worthy  matron,  and  we  rode  on. 

At  last  we  were  well  out  of  Sarsar,  and  my  spirits  began  to 


34  DIALECT   TALES. 

rise.  Suddenly  we  heard  the  clatter  of  a  horse's  hoofs  coming 
after  us  at  a  rapid  gallop. 

"  We  are  pursued !"  said  Mr.  Rucker. 

u  Let  me  give  him  a  run  for  it,"  I  cried. 

"  No,  no ;  wait  here ;  guilt  flies ;  you  risk  nothing  in  facing 
whomsoever  it  may  be." 

The  pursuer  turned  out  to  be  a  lean  little  man,  who 
introduced  himself  as  Dr.  Mellar. 

"  I  heard  you  were  about  leaving  town,  Mr.  Merryfield,"  he 
said,  briskly — "Mere wether? — excuse  me  —  and  I  wanted  to 
mention  to  you  a  little  bill  for  attendance  on  the  negro,  Bud 
Kane — his  mother  being  unable  to  pay — and  hearing  you  had 
a  fine  feeling  of  honor — " 

I  got  down  from  my  horse,  squared  my  elbows,  doubled  my 
fists.  "  Come  on  !"  said  I. 

"  Are  you  mad  ?"  cried  the  little  doctor ;  and  wheeling  his 
horse  sharply  round,  he  fled  back  to  Sarsar. 

Before  I  mounted  again  I  deliberately  loaded  my  pistol. 

"This  is  a  seven -shooter,"  said  I  to  Mr.  Rucker.  "One 
ball  is  for  the  undertaker,  one  for  the  grave-digger,  the  odd 
ones  for  any  of  the  mourners  who  may  wish  to  be  paid  for 
weeping  at  Bud  Kane's  funeral." 

"  I  think,"  cried  Mr.  Rucker,  reeling  slightly  in  his  saddle, 
as  if  convulsed  by  some  internal  emotion — "  I  really  think  we 
have  seen  the  last  of  them.  You  may  shake  the  dust  from 
your  feet,  Mr.  Merewether — you  are  out  of  Sarsar." 

It  was  shortly  before  Christmas  that  this  adventure  befell 
me.  Christmas-day  dawned  brightly,  as  it  seemed,  to  all  the 


THE  GENTLEMEN  OF  SARSAR.  35 

world  but  me.  I  had  no  heart  to  go  to  church,  feeling  in  no 
mood  for  the  jubilant  services.  I  was  alone  in  the  house, 
and  when  there  came  a  ring  at  the  bell  I  answered  the 
door.  There  stood  a  remarkably  tall,  lithe  negro  man,  with 
my  portmanteau  in  one  hand,  and  in  the  other  a  little  cov 
ered  basket. 

"  Christmas-gift,  marster  !"  he  cried. 

"  Merry  Christmas  to  you.  You  can  get  a  glass  of  egg- 
nog  in  the  kitchen.  I  see  you  are  from  Sarsar.  You  have 
brought  back  my  portmanteau." 

"  Yes,  sir.  Looks  like  you  ought  to  know  me  by  name, 
young  marster.  You  nearly  shot  my  head  off  onct.  Don't 
you  remember  Bud  Kane  ?" 

"Bud  Kane!" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  dat's  me.  Mars'  Andy  tole  you  I  wus  dead ;  but 
dat  wus  jest  a  joke  o'  his.  Somebody  axed  him  what  made 
him  act  so  hateful  to  you,  an'  he  said  onct  dar  wus  two  men 
standin'  on  de  Court-house  steps,  an'  one  of  'em  ups  and  knocks 
de  odder  off  de  steps ;  an'  dey  had  him  up  fur  'salt  an'  battery. 
An'  de  judge  says,  '  What  made  you  knock  dat  man  offen  de 
steps  ?  He  wus  a  stranger  ter  you,  an'  not  a-doin'  no  harm.' 
An'  de  man  says,  '  I  knows  it,  judge ;  I  didn't  have  nothin'  agin 
de  fellow ;  but  de  truth  is,  he  stood  so  fair  I  couldrit  help  it" ' 

And  Bud  Kane  chuckled  as  if  I  would  be  at  no  loss  to 
apply  his  choice  anecdote. 

"  Here's  a  note  Mars'  Andy  sont  you,"  he  added. 

I  took  the  note,  and  read  as  follows  : 

"  DEAR  MEREWETHER, — I  hope  you  don't  bear  malice.  I  know  you  will 
be  glad  that  Bud  Kane  is  not  dead,  and  send  this  note  by  him  to  convince 


36  DIALECT   TALES, 

you  of  the  fact.  Of  course  the  bail  business  was  a  farce;  and  I  return  the 
money  you  so  handsomely  shelled  out  to  the  various  claimants.  And  I  must 
do  myself  the  justice  to  say  that  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  Mother  Kane's 
onslaught;  that  was  unpremeditated  and  original. 

"  It  is  the  season  of  forgiveness,  so  don't  be  backward  about  it.  And, 
in  token  of  amity,  accept  the  pups  you  admired — we  call  them  Prince  and 
Pauper — and  give  them  to  your  sweetheart.  Come  again  to  Sarsar  on  a 
different  errand,  and  I  promise  you  a  better  welcome  from  rough  old 

"ANDY  RUCKER." 

"  You  take  those  pups  back,"  said  I,  "  and  tell  Mr.  Rucker 
that  I  will  accept  nothing  at  his  hands." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Bud,  with  a  look  of  drollery ;  "  but  can't  I 
have  my  eggnog  befo'  I  start  back  ?  Christmas-time,  you  know, 
marster." 

"  Oh  yes,  have  all  the  eggnog  you  want ;  and  when  you  are 
ready  to  go  come  to  me  for  a  note  I  shall  send  to  Mr. 
Rucker." 

Bud  Kane  disappeared  in  the  direction  of  the  kitchen ;  and, 
angry,  mortified,  humbled  in  my  own  esteem,  I  set  myself  to 
the  realization  of  how  I  had  been  duped.  All  the  details  of 
the  fine  joke — just  where  truth  ended  and  imposture  began — 
I  should  probably  not  know  until  I  met  Mr.  Rucker.  Then  I 
promised  myself  an  explanation  and  an  ugly  quarrel. 

While  I  brooded  over  the  matter  the  pups  got  out  of  the 
basket  and  began  to  frisk  about  the  room.  Then  who  should 
come  in  but  Angie,  rosy  and  beautiful,  on  her  way  home  from 
church.  Down  she  went  on  her  knees  before  the  little  beauties 
in  black-and-tan ;  and  then  she  went  into  such  raptures  over 
them,  and  kissed  them  so  many  times,  that  I  couldn't  stand  it, 
but  offered  her  them  and  myself  on  the  spot !  She  accepted 


THE  GENTLEMEN  OF  SARSAR.  37 

the  three  of  us ;  and  the  next  thing  I  knew  I  had  Angle, 
Prince,  and  Pauper  in  my  arms,  and  was  pressing  a  first  kiss 
on  her  smiling  lips.  Pauper  happened  to  be  somewhere  be 
tween  her  heart  and  mine,  and  in  consequence  was  so  cruelly 
squeezed  as  to  give  a  piercing  howl ;  but  it  was  a  rapturous 
moment.  I  loved  all  the  world ;  I  blessed  Andy  Rucker ;  and 
I  forgave  the  Gentlemen  of  Sarsar ! 


38  DIALECT  TALES. 


ON   THE  NINE-MILE. 

I.— JANEY. 

I  said  when  I  first  come  as  a  boarder  ter  Mr.  Jed 
Burridge's  house  on  the  Nine-mile  Perarer  wuz  that  his 
daughter  Janey  would  be  snapped  up  before  she  wuz  twenty, 
an'  Mr.  B.  would  hev  ter  look  out  fur  another  wife.  But  his 
sister,  Mis'  Stackley — commonly  called  Little  Mary  Jane,  owin' 
to  her  short  height,  an'  to  her  havin'  been  left  a  widder  at  the 
age  of  eighteen  —  she  says  ter  me,  "I  tell  you,  brother  Jed 
don't  want  no  more  wives." 

"  Land !"  says  I,  "  how  many  has  he  had  ?" 

"  One,"  says  she,  very  severe,  "  an'  that  one  a  handful.  Sis 
ter  Lucilly  wuz  a  good  woman,  but  ther'  wuzn't  such  a  driver 
on  the  perarer,  an'  she  kep'  Jed  on  the  jump.  If  he  come  in 
to  set  down  a  minnit,  it  'ud  be  '  Jed,  you  peel  them  pertaters/ 
or,  *  Jed,  tear  me  off  some  carpet  rags  —  change  o'  work  will 
rest  ye.'  An'  somehow,  sence  Lucilly  wuz  called,  I've  seen  a 
kind  of  expression  of  peace  steal  inter  Jed's  face  that  wuzn't 
there  o'  former  years." 

Amos  Burridge's  wife  spoke  up,  an'  says  she,  with  a  laugh, 

"  '  Beneath  this  stone  my  wife  doth  lie  : 
She  is  at  rest,  and  so  am  !.'" 

"  Ther'   ain't   nothin'  o'  that  sort  on   Lucilly's  tombstone," 


ON   THE  NINE -MILE.  39 

says  another  sister  o'  Jed's  —  sister  Charity  Hackleton,  who 
wuz  a  tall  lady,  shaped  like  a  camel,  an'  powerful  religious— 
ki  but  a  nice,  hullsome  epitaff  settin'  forth  the  virtues  of  the 
deceased,  an'  a  text  of  Scripture  appropriate." 

"  That's  neither  here  nor  there,"  says  Nancy  Jones  as  wuz, 
who  married  the  youngest  o'  the  Burridge  boys ;  "  but  as 
to  Janey  Burridge  bein'  married  afore  she's  twenty,  I  don't 
believe  she  will  be  married  at  all.  What  with  her  mother 
a-dyin'  an'  leavin'  so  much  orthority  in  Janey's  hands,  the  girl 
is  plum  spoiled.  Ther'  ain't  a  Sunday  but  the  house  is  filled 
with  beaux,  an'  she  won't  say  yes,  an'  she  won't  say  no.  I 
don't  believe  in  no  such  doin's.  It's  flyin'  in  the  face  o'  Provi 
dence.  When  a  girl  has  a  good  offer,  she  had  ought  ter  take  it." 

"  No  doubt  o'  that  bein'  your  opinion,  Nancy,"  said  Mis' 
Amos,  a-smilin'  quite  amiable ;  but,  fur  all  that,  Nancy  colored 
up  like  a  turkey-cock,  fur  folks  do  say  that  she  snapped  at  her 
good  offer  afore  ever  it  wuz  made.  But  la !  this  is  a  slander 
ous  world. 

"  Eben  will  scatter  the  boys  when  he  gits  home,"  says 
Little  Mary  Jane ;  "  he  ain't  a-goin'  ter  stand  the  entertainin' 
of  such  a  crowd." 

"Janey  feeds  her  beaux  high,"  says  I,  parenthetical. 

"  Maybe  that's  the  attraction,"  sniffs  Nancy  Jones  as  wuz. 

"  Don't  you  believe  it,"  cries  Amos  B.'s  wife,  very  prompt. 
u  It's  Janey  herself  they  are  after.  An'  no  wonder.  She's  as 
smart  as  a  steel-trap,  an'  as  pretty  as  a  young  pullet.  She  can 
pick  an'  choose." 

"  Some  folks'  insinerations,"  says  Nancy,  very  furious,  "  is 
about  as  nasty  as  this  here  wool  we  are  a-pickin'  out." 


40  DIALECT   TALES. 

It  wuz  at  a  wool-pickin'  we  wuz  conversing  an'  about  this 
time  I  had  to  leave,  though  very  reluctant,  as  I  did  enjoy 
a  reg'lar  set-to  between  Janey  Burridge's  aunts.  Git  'em 
together,  an'  they  use'  ter  make  me  think  of  a  line  of  poetry 
in  my  readin'-book  at  school : 

"  An  Austrian  army  awfully  arrayed !" 

They  were  free  an'  loud  of  voice  as  a  pack  of  hounds,  an' 
when  they  didn't  agree  the  din  wuz  tremenjus.  Ther'  wuz 
four  of  'em,  two  bein'  Burridges  by  birth,  an'  two  havin'  mar 
ried  inter  the  family.  Certainly  ther'  wuz  no  porcity  of  aunts 
to  look  after  Janey,  but  as  if  enough  wuzn't  as  good  as  a  feast, 
she  always  called  me  aunt  too.  I  wuz  no  blood -kin  to  the 
child,  but  my  husband  wuz  connected  in  a  roundabout  way 
with  some  o'  the  Burridges,  so  I  wuz  Aunt  Fonie  to  most  o' 
the  young  folks,  an'  I  wuz  that  fussless  in  my  natur'  that  I 
got  on  peaceable  with  the  hull  lot,  though  the  aunts  wuz  as 
tryin'  as  seven  years'  aguy,  an'  Janey  would  make  a  sassy 
speech  occasional.  Fur  instance,  the  day  o'  the  wool-pickin', 
when  I  got  home  she  wuz  leanin'  on  the  gate  a-chattin'  ter 
Roland  Selph,  who  had  been  cock  o'  the  walk  on  the  perarer 
sence  he  got  religion  in  the  spring.  Janey's  sleeves  wuz  rolled 
up  ter  the  shoulders,  an'  her  arms  wuz  all  dough,  a-showin'  she 
had  jest  left  her  bread  in  the  pan  to  rise  or  fall  as  the  Lord 
willed.  "  Bread  an'  beaux,"  says  I  to  her,  speakin'  mild  but 
impressive,  "  has  both  to  be  treated  with  attention ;  but  the 
Queen  of  England,"  says  I  —  "no,  nor  the  Sar  of  Russia  — 
couldn't  'tend  to  the  two  simultaneous." 

"  Well,  Aunt  Fonie,"  cries  Janey,  "  if  a  person  can't  do  two 


ON   THE  NINE -MILE.  41 

things  at  onct,  what  makes  you  think  you  can  manage  your 
business  an'  mine  too  ?" 

I  won't  deny  that  my  feelin's  wuz  hurt.  People  ought  ter 
be  mighty  careful  what  they  say  ter  an  isolate  female  whose 
partner  is  a-restin'  with  the  worms. 

But  somehow  I  never  could  stay  mad  with  Janey.  She 
wuz  such  a  cheerful  person  to  have  around :  somethin'  eter 
nally  goin'  on  wher'  she  wuz.  She  wuz  as  good  as  a  breeze 
among  leaves  to  set  things  a -goin';  an'  she  could  turn  out 
more  work  in  a  day  than  most  of  us  in  a  week.  She  wuz 
powerful  good-lookin'  too,  Janey  wuz,  with  crisp  black  hair, 
cheeks  like  apples,  an'  a  big,  laughin'  mouth  full  o'  white  teeth, 
that  she  akchilly  thought  as  much  of  as  if  they  wuz  diamonds. 

II.— EBEN  BURRIDGE  COMES  HOME. 

Nobody  don't  consider  a  boy  of  much  account.  And  I 
don't  say  but  that  little  Elick  Farley  had  a  hard  time  of  it 
at  the  farm.  He  wuz  a  child  that  Mr.  Burridge  had  took  out 
of  charity — a  son  of  a  distant  niece  of  his,  who  had  married  a 
young  man  by  the  name  of  Alexander  Farley,  from  St.  Louis. 

It  wuz  the  sort  of  marriage  that  the  song  of  "  Dixie  "  tells 

about : 

"  Ole  mis'  she  acted  a  foolish  part — 

She  married  a  man  dat  broke  her  heart." 

Not  that  Lex  Farley  meant  ter  be  a  bad  man.  He  wuz  kind, 
and  could  make  money  hand  over  hand  in  the  photographin' 
line  when  he  wanted  to.  But  drink  seemed  ter  have  a  lien  on 
him,  an'  he  would  spree  in  the  awfullest  way,  always  insistin', 
when  the  fit  wuz  on  him,  that  he  should  be  called  General 


42  DIALECT   TALES. 

Harrison.  What  the  p'int  of  this  idea  was  nobody  ever  could 
exactly  see,  except  that  it  seemed  a  sort  o'  pride  o'  natur' 
comin'  out  even  when  he  wuz  at  the  lowest  pitch.  But  he 
carrid  on  so  ridickerlous  in  his  spells  that  his  wife's  spirits 
seemed  to  wear  out.  She  wuz  always  weakly,  an'  she  up  an' 
died.  The  only  spark  o'  fun  that  wuz  ever  in  the  poor  girl 
showed  itself  on  her  dyin'  bed. 

"I  think,"  says  she,  smilin'  very  pitiful — "I  do  think  I 
might  git  up  agen,  if  it  wuzn't  fur —  Then  she  stopped  a 
long  while. 

"  If  it  wuzn't  for  what,  Effie  ?"  asks  a  neighbor. 

"  Fur  General  Harrison,"  she  whispers,  very  gentle. 

After  her  death,  Jed  Burridge  took  her  boy  to  bring  him 
up  on  the  farm,  out  o'  the  reach  o'  temptation.  Elick  wuz  a 
wild  flitter-gibbet,  always  a-needin'  to  be  kept  down,  but  a  real 
worker  fur  his  age. 

One  of  his  chores  wuz  to  go  to  the  post-office.  Most  o' 
the  folks  on  the  perarer  wuz  mighty  neglectful  as  to  mail 
matter,  trustin'  usually  to  the  chance  of  some  neighbor  in- 
quirin'  fur  'em,  or  lettin'  it  run  on  indefinite;  but  Jed  Bur- 
ridge  always  would  keep  up  with  things,  bein'  a  man  very 
advanced  in  his  notions.  Once  every  week  reg'lar,  rain  or 
shine,  Elick  was  sent  in  to  the  office ;  most  ginerally  Saturday 
evenin's,  so  as  Jed  could  git  his  paper,  the  Toledo  Blade,  fur 
Sunday  readin'.  He  didn't  git  to  church  frequent,  but  set  up 
an'  chuckled  an'  swore  alternate  over  that  paper;  fur  it  wuz 
as  hot  as  ginger,  an'  Jed,  though  a  powerful  peaceful  man, 
agreed  with  it  all,  an'  rolled  out  politics  like  smoke  if  a  Dem 
ocrat  dropped  in  fur  an  argeyment. 


ON   THE  NINE -MILE.  43 

On  a  special  Saturday  Elick  fetched  home  a  letter  from 
Eben  Burridge  to  his  pa,  sayin'  we  might  expect  him  by  the 
1 5th,  which  wuz  the  following  Sunday.  Eben  had  been  out  in 
Kansas  fur  a  couple  o'  years,  seekin'  a  place  to  locate.  It 
seemed  he  hadn't  found  one,  however,  fur  the  next  day  he 
arrove  at  home,  like  Duffey  after  the  third  round,  confident  an' 
smilin',  as  pompous  an'  self-satisfied  a  little  man  as  ever  I  see. 
After  dinner  the  boys  came  a-droppin'  in  as  usual,  an'  what 
does  he  do  but  take  the'r  visits  to  hisself !  When  Janey  come 
to  the  sittin'-room  door  to  bid  'em  to  supper,  ther'  wuz  as 
many  as  a  dozen,  lookin'  at  each  other  like  gawks,  but  all  very 
perlite  to  Eben,  wantin'  to  curry  favor  with  Janey. 

"  Now,  I  take  this  as  kind,  boys,"  says  Eben,  quite  affable, 
as  we  set  round  the  table,  "  that  you  should  all  come  so  soon 
to  see  me.  It  takes  the  old  perarer  fur  good  fellows.  I  tell 
you,  out  yonder  in  Kansas  it's  scramble,  scramble,  an'  every 
body  a-suspicionin'  of  everybody.  If  ther'  wuz  a  conflagger- 
ation  of  a  neighbor's  house,  every  man  would  be  a-crowdin'  in 
ter  see  what  he  could  git  fur  hisself  in  the  way  o'  pelf,  instead 
o'  helpin'  to  save  a  sufferin'  fellow-creetur's  goods." 

"  Sho,"  says  Amos  Burridge,  "  we  ain't  that  bad,  though 
neither  air  we  what  we  use1  ter  be.  Fifty  years  ago,  when  I 
settled  here,  you  might  talk.  There  wuzn't  a  merkenary  man 
among  us.  No  pullin'  an'  haulin'  an'  cat-scratchin'  ter  git 
ahead.  Pervide  enough  ter  eat  fur  yourself  an'  your  stock, 
an'  you  could  ride  aroun'  the  balance  o'  the  time." 

"  I'm  sure  ther's  a-plenty  of  visitin'  nowadays,"  says  I,  likin' 
always  to  hear  my  bob  in  conversation. 

"  'Tain't  the  same  kind.     Folks  drop   in,  ter  be  sure ;   but 


44  DIALECT   TALES. 

then  they  went  fur  a  stayin'  spell.  The  doors  wuz  made  of 
split  boards  two  or  three  inches  too  short,  an'  when  you  left 
home  all  you  hed  to  do  wuz  ter  throw  a  quilt  over  the  top,  an1 
then  folks  would  know  you  wuz  out,  an'  wouldn't  holler." 

"Mighty  funny  way  ter  make  a  door!"  says  Elick  Farley. 

"  Ther'  wuz  no  winders,  don't  you  see.  Not  a  pane  o' 
glass  on  the  Nine -mile.  I  remember  the  first  man  that  hed 
any  made  half  his  front  door  of  glass;  an'  it  wuz  a  sort  o' 
guide :  so  many  miles  east  or  west  o'  the  cabin  with  the  glass 
door,  folks  would  say. 

"  Wonder  what  they  say  about  our  house  ?"  says  Elick, 
stuffin'  a  laugh  inter  his  throat  with  a  piece  of  bread. 
"  Reckon  they  talk  about  t'other  side  o'  wher'  Janey  Black- 
Eyes  lives." 

"  Hold  your  jaw !'"  says  Eben,  fetchin'  Elick  a  awful  tweak 
o'  the  ear. 

Elick  squeals  out:  u  Ho !  you  stuck-up  Kansas  grasshop 
per  !  Think  the  fellows  come  ter  see  you,  do  you  ?  Ain't 
got  sense  enough  to  know  they're  after  Janey!  They  didn't 
know  you  wuz  looked  fur.  They  comes  every  Sunday  o'  the 
world.  Ho !  ho !  and  you  thought  you  wuz  so  pretty  that  you 
drawed  the  whole  squad !  Ef  that  ain't  a  joke  I  never !" 

Them  young  men  turned  every  color,  from  a  pea-green  to 
a  grizzly  gray.  An'  Eben  looked  red  and  furious  from  one 
ter  another. 

"Is  this  so?"  says  he,  glarin'  round.  "Is  it  Janey  you've 
come  ter  set  up  with  ?" 

As  luck  would  have  it,  he  looked  straight  at  Roland  Selph, 
an'  Roland  sence  he  got  religion  had  swore  off  from  tellin1 


ON    THE  NINE -MILE.  45 

lies,  though  the  boys  wuz  always  tryin'  to  git  him  in  a  tight 
place  where  he  couldn't  speak  the  truth  without  a-hurtin' 
somebody's  feelin's. 

Howsomever,  Roland  laughed,  good-humored,  an'  says  he, 
"  Wher'  ther's  honey  you  must  look  for  flies,  Eben." 

u  Yes,"  says  Eben,  very  significant,  an'  lookin'  as  if  he 
would  like  to  bite  somethin',  "  and  wher'  ther's  flies  you  can 
look  out  fur  fly-pizen.  What  have  you  to  say  fur  yourself, 
Charley  Winn  ?" 

"I  have  ter  say  that  I  come  a-courtin'  Janey,"  says  Mr. 
Winn,  as  bold  as  brass ;  "  an'  she  can  take  me  or  leave  me 
any  day  she  says  the  word." 

"  Brother  Eben,"  cries  Janey,  her  face  afire,  "  I  wish  you 
wuz  back  in  Kansas,  that  I  do." 

u  Very  well,"  says  Eben,  quite  majestic,  "  I  relieve  you  of 
my  company  fur  the  present."  An'  out  he  stalks,  puffin'  like 
a  mad  gobbler. 

"  Boys,  we'd  better  git  our  hats,"  says  Albert  Thing. 

They  got  up,  and  every  last  one  of  'em  slips  away  like  a 
whip-tailed  hound. 

Janey  burst  out  a -cry  in',  without  waitin'  to  wash  up  the 
supper  things. 

"  Of  all  the  mean  sneaks  that  ever  wuz  born,  Ebenezer 
Burridge,  you  are  the  worst,"  she  said. 

"  Do  you  want  your  par  eat  out  of  house  an'  home  ?" 

"  Well,  on  my  word !  to  count  company's  eatin' !" 

"  I  should  say  so !  A  supper  spread  out  fit  fur  a  preacher ! 
Two  dishes  of  fresh,  an'  apple  butter,  an'  a  stack  o'  pies,  an' 
dear  knows  what !  I'll  stand  nothin'  of  the  sort  in  my  house.'1 


46  DIALECT   TALES. 

"  Easy,  my  boy,  easy,"  says  his  par.  "  This  property  belongs 
to  old  Jed  Burridge  yet  a  while." 

"  Well,  it's  a-goin'  to  be  mine  by  the  law  of  primogenicy," 
says  Eben,  very  grand;  "an'  all  I  have  to  say  is,  that  if  Jane 
wants  ter  marry,  she's  got  to  pick  one  outen  the  crowd,  an' 
turn  the  rest  off.  My  foot  is  down." 

"  La,  Eben !"  says  I,  "  it's  so  hard  for  Janey  to  choose. 
She's  the  most  popperler  girl  on  the  perarer." 

"  Popperler !"  yells  Eben.  "  An'  what  business  has  a  decent 
woman  to  be  popperler?  Let  her  be  popperler  with  her  hus 
band,  an'  that's  enough.  I've  saw  your  popperler  women  —  I 
haven't  travelled  with  my  eyes  shut — an'  I  tell  you  they've  got 
no  more  character  than  stale  eggs." 

The  words  wuzn't  well  spoke  afore  up  jumped  Janey  an' 
give  him  such  a  slap  as  might  have  been  heard  to  the  wheat 
field.  Then  she  tore  off  like  a  cyclone  to  her  room. 

Eben  wuz  in  a  blazin'  rage ;  but  his  par  he  on'y  laughed 
a  little,  and  "  Ain't  she  got  sperrit  ?"  says  he.  "  Ain't  she, 
though  ?"  Then  a  sort  of  shade  came  over  his  face,  and  "  She 
do  put  me  so  much  in  mind  of  her  mother,"  he  said,  a-knock- 
in'  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe. 

III.— JANEY  MAKES  A  CHOICE. 

It  didn't  surprise  any  of  us,  a  few  weeks  later,  when  Janey 
told  her  par  that  she  meant  to  marry  Charley  Winn  ;  fur  he 
had  been  comin'  alone  quite  frequent,  an'  he  an'  Janey  had  set 
up  in  the  parlor,  not  findin'  much  ter  say. 

"  I  ain't  no  objection  to  Charley,"  says  Jed,  "  an'  I  shall  give 
Janey  fifty  geese  an'  ten  sheep  an'  a  cow." 


ON   THE  NINE-MILE.  47 

"Charley's  goin'  ter  build,  par,"  says  Janey — "three  rooms 
an'  a  ell.  It  will  be  real  nice  beginnin'  all  fresh." 

Everybody  seemed  to  think  Janey  had  done  well,  and  most 
had  a  warm  word  fur  her.  The  aunts  would  try  to  fault 
Charley  occasional,  but  they  couldn't  git  the  best  o'  Janey ; 
an'  neither  could  Eben  when  he  fussed  with  her  about  wantin' 
to  take  so  much  o'  the  furniture  out  o'  the  house. 

"  It  wuz  my  mother's  furniture,"  says  she,  "  an'  I  mean  ter 
have  it." 

"  Well,  wuzn't  she  my  mother  too  ?"  snarls  Eben.  "  D'ye 
think  you  have  got  a  patent  on  her?  Ther'  won't  be  a  thing 
left  in  the  house  for  me  and  my  girl  to  set  up  with." 

Neither  one  of  'em  appeared  to  consider  the  old  father  as 
they  wrangled  over  his  things.  I  made  up  my  mind,  if  Janey 
did  make  a  clean  sweep,  I  should  unpack  some  of  my  own 
goods  that  I  had  stored  in  Peppertown,  an'  bring  'em  over; 
for  though  a  boarder  I  wuz  human,  an'  my  feelin's  went  out  to 
Jed  settin'  there  so  peaceful,  with  his  pipe  an'  his  white  head. 

Charley  Winn  lost  no  time  in  gettin'  his  house  put  up,  an' 
a  good  job  it  wuz — neat  an'  nice  as  a  palace,  with  a  bay-win 
dow  an'  plenty  o'  closets.  Every  evenin'  Janey  would  go  over 
to  see  how  it  wuz  gittin'  along,  an'  Charley  would  walk  home 
with  her,  both  of  'em  lookin'  as  proud  an'  as  pleased  as  if  the 
whole  o'  the  comin'  wheat  crop  belonged  to  'em.  The  weddin' 
wuz  to  be  just  after  harvesting  that  bein'  a  time  when  every 
body  took  a  restin'  spell.  Janey's  weddin'  frock  wuz  bein' 
made  in  Peppertown,  an'  Jed  had  made  her  a  present  of  a 
whole  bolt  of  domestic  that  we  wuz  makin'  up  as  fast  as 
possible.  He  wuz  a  mighty  liberal  man,  Jed  wuz,  an'  Janey's 


48  DIALECT   TALES. 

aunts  said  that  her  outfittin'  would  be  the  ruin  of  every  girl 
on  the  perarer. 

The  wheat  crop  this  year  wuz  a  very  stavin'  one,  and  the 
farmers  had  considerable  difficulty  in  gittin'  help. 

"  I  reckon  you'll  have  to  ride  the  reaper  to-morrow,  Janey," 
says  Eben,  one  night  at  supper,  "  if  you  can  spare  the  time." 

"  All  right,"  she  said.  "  My  work  can  wait,  an'  the  wheat 
can't.  It's  already  overripe." 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can  be  so  venturesome  as  to  ride  on 
the  reaper,"  says  I. 

"Janey  is  an  old  hand  at  helpin'  in  the  crop,"  says  her  pa. 
"  When  she  wuzn't  more'n  half  the  size  o'  Flick  here  she  rid 
the  leadin'  horse  when  we  wuz  a-thrashin'  out  the  wheat." 

"Why,  uncle,  didn't  you  have  a  thrashin'- machine?"  cries 
Elick,  stickin'  his  knife  between  his  teeth,  an'  proddin'  a  piece 
o'  pork  with  his  fork,  simultaneous  with  stretchin'  out  his 
other  hand  for  a  biscuit. 

"  Machines  wuz  locked  up  then  in  some  man's  brain,"  says 
Jed;  "an'  sometimes  I  wish  they  had  never  got  out,  fur  it 
gives  a  poor  man's  pocket-book  the  swinney  to  buy  one.  The 
way  we  thrashed  wuz  to  set  the  bundles  in  a  ring  about  forty 
feet  in  diameter,  I  cal'late,  an'  ride  around  it,  the  horses'  feet 
a-trampin'  out  the  grain.  An'  when  it  wuz  pretty  well  out 
we  would  sweep  it  up  in  a  cloth." 

"  I  should  think  it  would  'a  been  awful  unclean." 

"Well,  our  biscuits  wuz  gritty  sometimes,"  says  Jed,  with  a 
smile. 

Long  before  sun-up  the  next  mornin'  Ebenezer  gave  us  a 
call,  for  at  harvest -time  the  sooner  you  could  git  things  to 


ON    THE  NINE-MILE.  49 

goin',  the  better.  In  fact,  durin'  a  very  dry  season,  when  the 
sun  shone  down  hot  an'  fierce,  an'  the  wheat  wuz  as  brittle  as 
broom  straws,  an'  it  wuz  a  sheer  impossibility  to  bundle  it  with 
out  breaking  then  the  men  would  often  have  to  work  all  night, 
so's  ter  take  advantage  o'  the  dew.  'Twan't  no  great  hardship, 
however,  with  the  big  yellow  harvest -moon  a-shinin'  in  the 
sky,  an'  the  air  so  cool  an'  pleasant.  But  it  wuz  powerful  apt 
to  bring  on  the  chills. 

When  Janey  jumped  out  o'  bed  at  Eben's  call  she  said  she 
had  a  pain  in  her  left  eye,  and  wuz  afeared  she  wuz  goin'  ter 
have  a  sty,  to  which  she  wuz  subject  occasional.  We  had  a 
piece  o'  broken  lookin'- glass  in  our  room,  an'  takin'  it  in  her 
hand,  Janey  went  to  the  winder  to  examine  her  eye  where  she 
could  ketch  the  first  beam  o'  light.  While  she  stood  there,  as 
evil  doom  would  have  it,  Elick  Farley  passed  by  on  his  way 
ter  feed  the  turkeys. 

"Hi,  Janey!"  he  calls,  "you'd  better  come  down-stairs  an' 
git  the  breakfast,  instid  of  a-primpin'  an'  a-fixin'  an'  a-lookin'  in 
the  glass  as  if  you  wuz  goin'  to  a  party." 

"You  go  about  your  business  an'  let  me  alone,"  says  Janey, 
firin'  up  a  little. 

Then  what  does  he  do  but  commence  a-dancin'  up  an' 
down,  an'  a-singin': 

"Janey's  mad,  an'  I  am  glad, 

An'  I  know  what  '11  please  her — 
A  bottle  o'  wine  ter  make  her  shine, 
An'  Charley  Winn  to  squeeze  her." 

At  this  Janey  turned  real  ugly.  "  See  if  I  can't  make 
you  change  your  tune,"  she  cries.  And  without  a  moment's 


50  DIALECT   TALES. 

thought,  I  am  sure,  she  flung  the  piece  o'  lookin'-glass  square 
at  Elick's  head.  It  struck  him  on  the  forehead,  an'  he  began 
to  bleed  and  howl  simultaneous.  We  ran  down,  considerably 
skeered ;  but  the  cut  didn't  turn  out  to  be  much,  an'  wuz  soon 
salved  and  bound  up.  Elick's  feelin's,  however,  wuz  all  agog. 
Many  a  black  look  he  cast  at  Janey. 

44  I'll  be  even  with  you  yet,"  says  he,  4'  an'  you  mark  my 
words."  But  Janey  on'y  humped  up  her  shoulders  at  him,  an' 
went  along  to  the  wheat  field. 

Reapin'  is  hungry  work,  an'  our  harvesters  could  put  away 
four  meals  a  day  quite  comfortable.  So  along  about  eleven 
o'clock  I  fixed  up  a  lunch  of  cold  biscuit  an'  pork  an'  hoe- 
cake,  an'  a  jug  of  cool  buttermilk,  an'  went  ter  the  field  with  it. 
Fur  though  I  wuz  a  boarder,  I  wuz  never  above  doin'  any 
little  chores  to  help  the  work  along. 

I  got  to  the  field  just  as  the  reaper  wuz  comin'  up.  Janey 
wuz  sittin'  up  high  under  the  awnin'  drivin',  an'  Charley  Winn 
stood  beside  her,  a-tyin'  up  the  bundles  very  swift.  Eben  wuz 
stackin'  up  in  a  distant  part  o'  the  field,  an'  his  par  had  stop 
ped  to  rest  under  a  big  walnut-tree  which  wuz  a  sort  o'  land 
mark  to  people  in  those  parts,  it  bein'  the  tallest  tree  on  the 
Nine -mile,  an'  wuz  ginerally  known  as  "  Burridge's  walnut." 
Here  they  gethered  ter  eat  their  lunch. 

44  Phew !  but  it's  a  hot  day !"  says  Jed,  takin'  a  long  pull  at 
the  buttermilk,  an'  passin'  the  jug  to  Charley  Winn. 

44  The  wheat  field  is  a  mighty  purty  sight,"  says  I ;  for  it 
wuz,  with  the  yellow  sun  shinin'  on  the  yellow  waves  o'  grain, 
an'  the  path  that  the  reaper  had  made  lookin'  as  smooth  an' 
clean  an'  bare  as  the  dry  line  through  the  Red  Sea. 


ON   THE  NINE-MILE.  51 

"  I  don't  know  about  purty,"  says  Jed,  "  but  it's  as  fine  a 
stand  of  wheat  as  I  ever  had.  Not  a  spear  of  cheat  in  it.  An' 
this  one  good  year  the  Hessian  fly  an'  the  chinch-bug  has  let 
us  alone." 

"  Ther'  ain't  a  farmer  in  the  country  as  can  compare  with 
you,  Mr.  Burridge,"  says  Charley  Winn.  "  I  only  hope  to 
have  half  as  good-luck  when  I  am  tryin'  it  single-hand." 

"  Sho !  you'll  have  Janey  ter  help  you.  She's  as  good  a 
farmer  as  I  am.  I  allays  said  Janey  ought  ter  'a  bin  the  boy 
an'  Eben  the  girl  in  our  family.  Eben  has  a  picayunish, 
meachin'  sort  o'  way  with  him  as  is  nateral  to  women.  His 
mother  hed  it,"  went  on  the  old  man,  quite  thoughtful,  an' 
chewin'  a  wheat  straw.  "  But  Janey  is  another  sort,  active  an' 
strong,  an'  muscles  like  steel." 

"Oh,  I  love  ter  work  out-doors,"  cries  Janey.  "I  can  do 
a'most  anything  that  a  man  can.  I  don't  know  what  I  should 
do  if  I  had  to  stay  shut  up  in  the  house." 

"  I  believe  you  could  throw  me  in  a  rassel,"  says  Charley. 
"  What  a  muscle,  ter  be  sure !"  an'  he  give  her  arm  a  squeeze. 

Janey  tossed  her  head,  an'  colored  up,  an'  laughed — a  big, 
saucy  laugh.  Gracious !  if  any  one  had  told  me  that  I  would 
never  again  hear  that  laugh,  never  see  her  standing  strong  an' 
vigorous  as  a  young  oak,  an'  red  as  a  poppy  bloom,  in  the 
golden  grain,  with  her  sweetheart  by  her  side !  Well,  well ! 
a  body  may  jest  as  well  give  up  soon  as  late  a-tryin'  ter  under 
stand  the  ways  of  Providence ! 

They  set  off  again,  Janey  still  a-drivin',  an'  I  started  fur 
home.  As  I  reached  the  bars  I  turned  an'  looked  back.  The 
reaper  wuz  cuttin'  against  the  wind.  Janey's  bonnet  wuz  off, 


52  DIALECT   TALES. 

an'  her  black  hair  wuz  blowin'  over  her  face.  Suddenly  I  saw 
a  little  sunbeam  dancin'  about  the  head  of  old  Pete,  the  right- 
hand  horse.  He  shook  his  head,  annoyed  like;  but  the  little 
patch  of  light  went  bobbin',  bobbin',  here  an'  there,  glancin'  in 
eyes,  ears,  an'  nose,  quick  as  a  hummin'-bird,  an'  finally  flashin' 
full  in  the  eyes  of  Nelly  Grey,  the  little  mare,  that  wuz 
a-drivin'  with  old  Pete.  The  skittish  thing  give  an  awful 
jump.  The  next  minnit  both  frightened  animals  had  started 
off  on  a  run,  an  Janey,  poor  Janey,  wuz  thrown  forward  in 
front  of  the  sickle  bar!  Great  Heaven !  what  a  time  it  seemed 
before  the  horses  could  be  overtook  an'  halted !  How  I  got  to 
the  spot  I  never  could  tell.  When  I  did,  ther'  wuz  Ebenezer 
holdin'  to  the  pantin',  tremblin'  horses,  that  wuz  rollin'  the'r 
eyes  as  if  in  a  mortal  fright.  An'  Charley  an'  Jed  wuz  try  in' 
to  lift  somethin'  from  the  knives,  red  with  blood,  an'  the 
pointed  guards  clogged  with  mangkd  flesh.  They  got  her 
out,  and  laid  her  down  on  the  ground.  Charley  went  over  to 
the  house,  an'  came  back  with  a  door  that  he  had  wrenched 
off,  an'  we  managed  to  git  her  on  this,  knowin'  only  by  a  faint 
moanin'  that  the  breath  wuz  still  in  the  poor  torn  body. 

Eben  an'  Jed  crept  acrost  the  field  with  the'r  burden,  while 
Charley  jumped  on  Nelly  Grey  an'  rid  like  mad  fur  the 
doctor. 

I  walked  a  little  behind,  feelin'  stunned  an'  dazed ;  an'  as 
I  passed  under  "  Burridge's  walnut "  I  heard  a  voice  callin', 
"Aunt  Fonie!" 

I  looked  up.  A  pair  of  wild  eyes  peered  at  me  through 
the  branches. 

"  Aunt  Fonie,"  called  Elick,  "  is  she  dead  ?" 


ON    THE  NINE-MILE.  53 

"  Come  down  outen  that  tree,  Elick  Farley !"  says  I,  very 
solemn. 

Down  he  slid,  the  most  miserable,  God-forsakened  little 
wretch.  He  had  cried  white  streaks  down  his  cheeks,  an'  he 
wuz  a-shakin'  all  over.  /;/  his  hand  he  held  a  bit  of  broken 
looking-glass. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?"  says  I. 

"  I  did  it,"  he  says,  very  pitiful.  "  I  wanted  to  tease  her 
because  I  wuz  mad,  an'  wanted  to  pay  her  off  a  little.  I  knew 
she  never  could  guess  that  I  wuz  hid  up  in  the  tree  catchin' 
the  sunbeam  with  the  same  piece  of  glass  that  she  struck  me 
with.  But  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  her.  I  never  dreamed  o'  her 
bein'  thrown  on  them — them  knives." 

"Elick  Farley,"  says  I,  takin'  him  hard  by  the  hand,  "come 
here ;"  and  I  followed  the  men  that  wuz  a-carryin'  poor  Janey. 
"Look!"  says  I — "look!"  and  along  the  path  wuz  a  line  o' 
drippin'  blood. 

"  Pray,"  says  I,  burstin'  inter  tears — "  pray  to  the  good  God 
that  that  stain  shell  not  rest  forever  on  your  soul." 

The  child  give  a  wild  cry  that  seemed  as  if  it  had  fairly 
burst  from  his  heart ;  then  tearin'  away  from  me,  he  ran  like  a 
dart  across  the  perarer,  in  the  direction  of  Peppertown. 

IV.— JANEY'S  COMFORTERS. 

Fur  many  a  draggin'  week  poor  Janey  lay  betwixt  life  an' 
death.  The  child  wuz  cut  an'  bruised  over  every  part  of  her 
body.  Two  of  her  ribs  wuz  broke,  an'  one  limb  had  been 
impaled  on  the  guards  of  the  sickle,  an'  wuz  nearly  sawed  in 
two.  That  she  should  so  much  as  survive  the  shock  an' 


54  DIALECT    TALES. 

horrid  wounds  seemed  a  miracle ;  but  the  doctor  brought  her 
round  at  last,  though  he  told  her  quite  frank  she  would  never 
be  able  ter  walk  again. 

"  Never  ter  walk  again !"  said  Janey,  flingin'  her  arms  over 
her  head,  with  a  long,  long  groan — "never  ter  walk  again! 
Oh,  Lord  !  oh,  Lord  !" 

The  aunts  wuz  all  a-settin'  round  very  solemn,  an'  they 
sithed  an'  rocked  themselves  back  an'  forth  like  trees  in  a 
wind. 

"It's  the  Lord's  will,"  says  sister  Charity  Hackleton ;  "an' 
mebbe  it's  sent  es  a  punishment  fur  your  sins." 

"  That's  all  nonsense,"  says  Janey,  very  dogged  like.  "  What 
sins  have  I  committed,  I  want  ter  know?  I've  worked  hard, 
an'  done  my  best ;  an'  beyond  a  sharp  word  now  an'  then,  I've 
nothin'  on  my  conscience.  I  don't  deserve  this." 

"  We  all  deserve  damnation,"  says  Charity,  severe  as  a 
Hard-shell  preacher.  "  Let  this  turn  your  soul  to  God,  an'  it 
will  prove  a  blessin'  in  disguise." 

"  Sho !"  says  Mis'  Amos  Burridge  ;  "  ther'  ain't  no  use  tryin' 
ter  bolster  the  poor  child  up  with "  such  talk  es  that.  It's  a 
terrible  misfortin — terrible.  It's  jest  es  if  she  had  jumped  from 
twenty  years  to  eighty — from  bein'  a  strong  young  girl  to  a 
helpless  old  woman,  needin'  es  much  care  es  a  baby,  an' 
sufferin'  perhaps  fur  a  drink  o'  water  even ;  because  a  family 
do  git  so  wore  out  waitin'  on  a  invaleed." 

"In  my  family,"  says  I,  "  ther'  would  a'  bin  no  thought  o' 
trouble.  We  wuzn't  the  kind  ter  count  our  steps  fur  the 
afflicted.  Consequently,  when  my  husband's  mother  wuz  down 
with  the  rheumatism  fur  years  an'  years,  her  room  wuz  about 


ON   THE  NINE -MILE.  55 

the  cheerfulest  in  the  house — fur  everybody  wuz  a-runnin'  to 
her  with  some  lovin'  service  —  an'  the  Visitation  o'  the  Sick 
read  quite  frequent  to  enliven  us." 

"  Never  mind  all  that,"  says  Little  Mary  Jane,  with  a  wave 
of  her  little  fat  hand.  "  Let  us  be  practical.  The  thing  is  ter 
find  somethin'  fur  Janey  ter  do.  I  cal'late  she  don't  mean  ter 
lie  round  all  her  days  a  burden  on  folks,  so  I've  bin  a-studyin' 
an'  a-studyin'  what  she  could  do.  Now,  I  take  it  she  couldn't 
do  nothin'  better  than  ter  buy  a  knittin'-machine.  She  could 
pervide  mittens  an'  socks  fur  the  whole  country,  fur  everybody 
would  buy  of  her  on  account  of  her  affliction ;  an'  thusly  she 
could  have  ockerapation  an'  a  stiddy  income." 

"  Knittin'- machines  cost  a  sight  o'  money,"  says  Amos 
Burridge's  wife,  very  dry.  "  Who's  goin'  ter  pay  fur  it  ?" 

"  She  might  sell  her  geese  fur  a  start." 

"  An'  her  relations  might  all  throw  in  an'  help,"  says  I. 

At  this  there  wuz  a  sort  o'  silence.  Never  a  Burridge  by 
name  or  by  birth  wuz  ever  willin'  to  put  his  hand  in  his 
pocket. 

"  Well,"  says  Nancy  Jones  as  wuz,  "  some  has  to  be  burdens, 
an'  some  to  bear  'em.  I'm  one  o'  the  last,  an'  I  don't  know  but 
what  I'm  the  worse  off  o'  the  two  of  us.  Twins  the  first  year 
o'  my  marriage,  an'  a  baby  ten  months  after !  I  am  fairly 
dragged  out  with  nursin',  an'  I  suppose  I  shell  have  a  baby  in 
my  arms  es  long  es  I  am  able  to  move." 

"  That's  somethin'  Janey  will  never  be  troubled  with,  any 
how,"  says  Mis'  Amos,  with  a  laugh,  as  if  she  wuz  sayin'  some- 
thin'  of  a  soothin'  an'  agreeable  natur'.  So  far  from  that  bein' 
the  case,  however,  it  seemed  as  if  that  speech  wuz  the  last 


56  DIALECT   TALES. 

straw.  I  had  noticed  fur  some  time  a  sort  of  convulsive  move 
ment  under  the  bedclothes,  as  if  Janey's  breast  wuz  a-heavin' 
with  silent  sobs,  an'  now  ther'  came  a  storm  o'  tears  an'  cries, 
as  if  natur'  had  bore  an'  bore  until  a  flood  came  fur  relief. 

I  jest  riz  up  then,  an'  says  I :  "  Clear  out  from  here,  you 
onfeelin'  set  o'  human  critters !  If  I  didn't  have  no  more 
decency  than  you've  got,  I'd  go  an'  hold  my  head  under  Big 
Muddy  Creek." 

They  wuz  skeered  at  the  state  they  see  they'd  thro  wed 
Janey  inter,  so  they  filed  out  pretty  meek.  I  took  the  poor 
child,  an'  worked  with  her,  an'  made  her  drink  some  hot  tea 
an'  take  a  good  strengthenin'  dose  of  quineen ;  an'  after  a 
while  she  grew  quiet,  an'  the  big  moans  stopped  comin'  from 
the  poor  breast  where  a  child's  head  would  never  rest,  an'  she 
fell  inter  a  sweet  sleep. 

Afore  I  thought  her  nap  wuz  over  Eben's  head  wuz  poked 
in  the  door.  Says  he,  "  Charley  Winn's  here,  an'  would  like 
ter  see  Janey." 

"  Well,  he  can't,"  says  I,  very  short,  "  fur  she  is  asleep." 

"  I  am  awake  now,  Aunt  Fonie,"  says  a  voice  from  the  bed. 
"  An'  Charley  may  come  in  as  soon  as  you've  tidied  me  up  a 
bit." 

Pretty  soon  we  heard  his  step  on  the  stair.  Janey  wuz 
tremblin',  but  she  shook  hands  with  him  quite  calm  when  he 
came  in,  an'  she  says,  "  You  go  out,  Aunt  Fonie ;  I  want  to 
talk  to  Charley  by  himself." 

But,  dear  sakes !  I  had  no  notion  of  effacin'  myself,  so  I 
stepped  outside  o'  the  door,  leavin'  it  ajee,  an'  a-settin'  myself 
where  I  could  look  an'  listen  quite  comfortable. 


ON   THE  NINE -MILE.  57 

Janey  lay  there,  her  big  eyes  fixed  on  Charley's  face.  He 
stood  up,  twirlin'  his  hat,  first  on  one  foot,  then  on  the  other, 
an'  lookin'  powerful  meachin',  fur  a  fact. 

"  Charley,"  begun  poor  Janey,  "  it's  hard  to  come  to  this." 

"  I'd  like  to  kill  that  little  devil !"  cried  Charley. 

"  Oh  no,  don't  say  that.  Poor  child !  you  know  he  ran 
away  to  his  pa :  you  remember  Lex  Farley  ?  Lex  wrote  a 
letter  ter  my  father,  expressin'  a  great  deal  o'  concern.  He 
said  it  seemed  as  if  Elick's  heart  wuz  fairly  broke.  Maybe 
he'll  make  a  good  man  yet." 

"  If  he  gits  ter  be  the  President,  I  don't  see  how  that's  ter 
make  up  ter  me  fur  losin'  you." 

"  A-losin'  me  ?"  repeats  Janey,  very  slow.  "  But  I  ain't  dead, 
Charley,  nor  like  ter  die,  the  doctor  says." 

That  hat  went  round  in  Charley's  fingers  as  if  it  wuz  pos 
sessed.  "But  you  know,  Janey,"  he  stammered — "you  know, 
a  man  hes  to  marry  a  woman  ter  do  her  shear  o'  the  work. 
And  you  can't  do  anything." 

"  True,"  says  Janey,  speakin'  very  loud  an'  harsh,  "  I'm  laid 
on  the  shelf.  An'  of  course  a  man  marries  a  woman  ter  have 
his  meals  cooked  reg'lar,  an'  the  harvestin'  'tended  to,  an'  the 
lard  tried  out,  an'  the  apple-butter  made,  an'  the  geese  plucked, 
an'  the  house  cleaned,  an'  the  washin'  done  on  Monday,  an'  the 
mendin'  Saturday,  an'  the  odd  jobs  on  Sunday." 

"  Exactly,"  says  he,  nodclin'  his  head,  an'  never  mistrustin' 
— the  gawk !  —  that  any  woman  with  feelin's  above  a  dumb 
beast's  would  'a  liked  fur  her  beau  to  add  a  little  tenderness 
to  that  bill  of  pertikelers. 

Janey  swallered    a  few  times,  an'  then    said,  quite   nateral, 


58  DIALECT   TALES. 

"  Of  course,  Charley,  you  will  be  marry  in'  some  one  else  before 
a  great  while  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  says.  "  My  house  is  built,  you  know,  an'  I've 
already  got  my  seed  in  that  fifty-acre  lot.  I  shell  have  to  git 
me  a  wife  by  next  harvest-time,  you  know." 

"  An'  have  you  made  up  your  mind,"  says  Janey,  very 
polite,  "  where  you'll  go  a-courtin'  next  time  ?" 

Don't  talk  to  me  about  a  man  havin'  any  gumption ! 
Charley  Winn  seemed  quite  pleased  that  Janey  wuz  takhV 
intrust  in  his  marryin',  an'  says  he,  in  a  sociable  kind  o'  way, 
as  if  he  had  been  talkin'  to  his  grandmother,  "  I  have  been 
thinkin'  of  Mahaly  Thing." 

"  She's  powerful  untidy,"  says  Janey.  "  They  say  she  washes 
her  hands  an'  makes  up  her  bread  in  the  same  bowl.  An'  I 
know  her  kitchen  is  the  sloppiest  on  the  Nine-mile." 

"What  do  you  think  of  Hatty  Holman?" 

"  Oh,  she  would  do,"  says  Janey,  speakin'  quite  dry,  "  if  you 
could  keep  two  hired  girls  —  one  to  do  the  work,  an'  one  to 
wait  on  her.  She's  as  lazy  as  a  snail." 

"  Well,  ther's  Evy  Wait ;  she  appears  to  be  of  a  brisk, 
active  natur'." 

"  So  much  so  that  they  say  she  can  drink  more  hard  cider 
than  any  girl  on  the  perarer." 

Charley  knit  up  his  brows,  an'  looked  as  if  the  subject  wuz 
gittin'  very  knotty. 

"  Suppose  I  wuz  to  ask  one  o'  the  Whiteside  girls  ?"  he 
suggested ;  "  they  are  purty,  and  smart  too." 

"  Oh  yes ;  and  they'll  give  a  kiss  for  the  askin'  to  you  or 
the  next  one  that  comes  along." 


ON   THE  NINE-MILE.  59 

"  I  don't  like  that,"  says  Charley,  very  stern.  "  None  o' 
your  fast  flirts  fur  me !  That's  what  I  use'  ter  like  about  you, 
Janey.  Every  fellow  hed  to  keep  his  distance.  Now,  the 
Biscoe  girls  are  of  a  very  proper  kind.  Wonder  how  it  would 
do  fur  me  to  apply  there  ?" 

"  Jenny  is  engaged  to  Roland  Selph ;  an'  as  fur  Leila,  she 
wouldn't  wipe  her  shoes  on  a  Western  wheat  farmer." 

"  An'  es  to  Polly  Ann  Carpenter  ?" 

"  She  is  a  waster.  She  can  throw  out  with  a  teaspoon 
faster  than  a  man  can  bring  in  with  a  shovel." 

"  I  declare,  Janey,"  said  Charley,  seemin'  quite  injured,  "  it 
looks  es  if  you  don't  want  me  ter  git  a  wife.  You  try  to  set 
me  agen  every  girl  on  the  perarer.  'Pears  like  you  can't  bear 
to  give  me  up  to  anybody  else." 

"  You  are  quite  mistaken,  Mr.  Winn,"  cries  poor  Janey,  her 
voice  risin'  higher  with  every  word  —  "quite  mistaken,  I  do 
assure  you.  I've  no  objection  to  your  havin'  forty  wives. 
You  might  go  to  Utah  an'  join  the  Mormons ;  then  you  could 
try  all  kinds,  you  know — ha !  ha  !  ha  !  ha !" 

When  I  heard  this  wild  laughin'  I  knew  it  wuz  time  to 
walk  in  with  the  camphor  bottle  in  hand. 

"  I  think  you  hed  better  make  yourself  scarce,"  says  I  to 
Charley  Winn,  with  a  very  viperish  look.  Pickin'  up  his  hat, 
he  sneaked  out  o'  the  room,  an'  out  o'  Janey  Burridge's  life. 
An'  I  may  jest  as  well  mention  that  it  wuzn't  six  months  afore 
he  wuz  married  to  Mahaly  Thing. 


BO  DIALECT   TALES. 

V.— UNEXPECTED  THINGS  HAPPEN  TO  JANEY. 

Janey  didn't  seem  ter  git  any  better  as  the  days  passed  on. 
She  took  no  intrust  in  anything  in  the  heavens  above  nor  in 
the  earth  beneath.  The  doctor  said  he  couldn't  do  no  more 
fur  her,  an'  except  to  make  her  pretty  deef,  all  the  quineen  she 
took  didn't  have  a  mite  of  effect.  Seein'  her  so  dwindlin'  an' 
pinin',  I  set  my  wits  ter  work.  The  child  ought  ter  have 
somethin'  to  engage  her  time  an'  her  mind.  An'  Little  Mary 
Jane's  idea  as  to  the  knittin'- machine  wuz  fur  from  bein'  a 
injudishus  one.  How  to  git  the  purchase -money  wuz  the 
trouble.  The  thought  come  to  me  that  Lex  Farley  might 
jest  as  well  as  not  help  in  the  matter;  so  I  wrote  him  a  letter 
on  my  own  hook,  as  the  sayin'  is,  an'  presented  the  case.  By 
the  next  Saturday  came  an  answer  sayin'  he  would  be  proud 
ter  git  the  machine  out  an'  out  for  Janey,  but  fur  me  to  say 
nothin'  about  it  till  it  had  arrove.  In  the  same  mail  wuz  a 
letter  ter  me  from  poor  little  Elick,  a-sayin'  thusly : 

"  DEAR  AUNT  FONIE, — Pa  has  swore  off  till  he  gits  Janey's 
machine.  I  am  a-helpin'  him,  an'  learnin'  the  photographin' 
business  very  fast.  Give  my  respex  ter  Janey.  I  am  very 
sorry  that  she  got  hurt.  Yours  truely,  E.  FARLEY." 

"  Seems  ter  me  you're  gittin'  a  lot  o'  letters,"  says  Eben 
when  he  handed  'em  to  me ;  but  I  only  smiled  mysterious,  an' 
said  not  a  word. 

I  never  had  seen  Janey  so  low  as  she  wuz  the  day  before 
Thanksgivin'.  I  wuz  bustlin'  round  preparin'  fur  nex'  day's 


ON   THE  NINE-MILE.  61 

dinner,  but  she  barely  raised  her  eyelids  from  her  cheeks. 
"  What  hev  I  ter  be  thankful  fur  ?"  she  would  say  when  I 
would  try  to  hearten  her  up  somewhat. 

Before  night,  however,  Janey  took  back  them  words  o'  hers ; 
fur  old  Mr.  Thing,  passin'  by  on  his  way  from  town,  stopped 
with  a  box  outen  the  express  office  directed  to  "  Miss  Janey 
Burridge." 

u  Fur  me !"  cries  Janey,  very  incredulous,  but  her  eyes 
sparklin'  as  I  hadn't  seen  'em  since  her  accident. 

We  all  assembled  while  Jed  knocked  off  the  wooden  slats 
an'  untied  the  strings  ;  fur,  be  the  hurry  what  it  may,  the  man 
wuz  that  careful  that  cut  a  string  he  would  not. 

An'  lo  an'  behold !  there  wuz  the  prettiest  knittm'-machine 
ever  made,  with  a  card : 

"  Compliments  and  Respects 

of 
Alexander  Farley 

to 
Miss  Janey  Burridge." 

Janey  wuz  pleased  enough  ter  cry,  an'  I  don't  believe  she 
slept  a  wink  that  night  fur  longin'  ter  try  her  hand  on  the 
little  beauty.  The  aunts  didn't  lose  no  time  in  comin'  over  to 
the  house  as  soon  as  they  got  wind  o'  Janey's  present.  An' 
sister  Chanty,  who  understood  how  to  work  machines,  offered 
to  stay  a  week,  if  need  be,  to  put  Janey  in  the  way  o'  runnin' 
hers ;  which  showed  she  wuzn't  a  bad  kind  o'  woman,  in  spite 
o'  bein'  so  aggressive  in  the  way  o'  religion. 

From  that  time  Janey's  health  an'  spirits  improved  consid 
erable.  She  turned  out  mittens  an'  socks  very  fast ;  an'  the 


62  DIALECT   TALES. 

very  first  pair  wuz  sent  as  a  present  to  Lex  Farley.  As  fur 
me,  seein'  how  well  my  idea  had  worked,  an'  though  not  as  a 
rule  approvin'  of  ridin'  a  willin'  horse  to  death,  still  I  thought, 
while  his  hand  was  in,  Lex  might  as  well  as  not  lay  up  more 
treasures  in  heaven.  So  I  up  an'  wrote  another  letter,  sayin' 
that  if  Janey  had  a  wheel-cheer,  it  would  be  the  greatest  thing 
in  the  world  fur  her  to  ease  her  pain,  an'  enable  her  ter  git 
about.  No  answer  came  to  this ;  but  I  waited  patient,  thinkin' 
somethin'  might  come  of  it.  An'  ther'  did. 

Christmas  had  come,  an'  we  all  had  bundled  up  in  the  big 
wagon,  an'  gone  over  ter  Amos  Burridge's  to  dinner — except, 
of  course,  poor  Janey,  who  wuz  left  in  the  charge  of  one  o'  the 
neighbors'  children,  little  Sally  Wysnicker,  with  a  nice  dinner 
ready  cooked  for  'em,  and  set  out  in  the  dresser. 

The  day  wore  along  as  them  family  spreads  usually  do, 
an'  about  four  o'clock  we  started  fur  home.  Now,  it's  a  very 
curious  thing,  but  as  we  reached  the  corner  o'  Mr.  Burridge's 
wheat  field,  I  had  the  most  flutterin'  sensation  erbout  the 
heart,  es  if  somethin'  wuz  a-goin'  ter  happen.  It  wouldn't  hev 
surprised  me  a  mite  ter  hev  found  the  house  burnt  up,  fur  I 
felt  the  same  way  twice  previous  in  my  life — once  precedin'  to 
our  Jersey  cow  bein'  gored,  an'  agin  before  my  partner  wuz 
taken  with  the  dropsy  that  carrid  him  off.  Howsomever,  ther' 
wuz  the  house  safe  an'  sound ;  an'  es  we  neared  the  gate  the 
wind  bore  the  sound  of  laughin'  to  our  ears.  Very  cur'ous,  we 
hurried  on ;  but  afore  we  got  to  the  door  out  broke  a  boy, 
all  dressed  up,  clean  as  clean,  an'  a-shoutin'  at  the  top  of  his 
voice,  "  Howdy,  Aunt  Fonie  !  howdy,  Uncle  Jed  !  howdy,  Eben  ! 
Christmas-gift !  Christmas-gift !" 


ON   THE  NINE-MILE.  63 

Of  course  it  wuz  Elick.  An'  of  course  the  slim,  long- 
bearded  man  we  see  through  the  winder  a-talkin'  so  kindly  ter 
Janey  wuz  Elick's  par,  Lex  Farley.  But  the  wonder  of  all"  wuz 
ter  see  Janey.  There  she  wuz,  bright  an'  smilin',  an  a-sittiri  up 
in  the  finest  kind  o'  wheeled  cheer,  es  proud  es  if  she  wuz  on 
a  throne. 

Well,  we  wuz  all  a-talkin'  together  fur  quite  a  spell ;  an'  Jed 
he  welcomed  Lex  real  hearty,  an'  told  him  he  must  make  him 
self  at  home  fur  es  long  es  he  would  like  ter  stay.  An'  you 
never  see  a  boy  so  changed  as  Elick  Farley.  From  bein'  a 
wild,  cantankerous  limb  that  nobody  hardly  could  abide,  he 
wuz  a  quiet,  nice  little  chap,  modest  an'  obligin'  in  his  ways, 
an'  a-hangin'  on  every  word  that  Janey  spoke. 

"  It  wuz  all  I  could  do  ter  git  him  ter  come,"  said  his  par, 
when  he  got  a  chance  fur  a  word  with  me.  "  You  see  he 
thought  Janey  would  be  so  set  agen  him  that  she  would  want 
ter  hev  him  arrested  or  somethin';  but  I  told  him  ter  be  a 
man,  an'  face  the  music.  When  we  got  inside  the  hall  door 
here,  an'  see  Janey  lookin'  so  white  an'  quiet,  as  if  she  might 
be  dead,  the  child  hung  back  as  if  he  darsn't  go  a  step  farther. 
But  I  pushed  him  inside  the  room,  an'  he  begun  ter  cry. 
Janey  turned  her  head  quick,  an'  seen  him  a-standin'  ther\ 
Somehow  she  didn't  seem  a  bit  surprised.  *  Elick,'  says  she, 
very  gentle — '  Elick,  come  here ;'  an'  when  he  wuz  in  reach  she 
put  her  arms  around  him  an'  kissed  him." 

"No!"  I  cried,  "Janey  Burridge  didn't  ever  do  that!" 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  strokin'  his  beard,  kind  o'  meditative,  "  she 
kissed  him.  An'  I  suppose  it's  the  first  time  anybody  hes 

kissed  him  sence  his  mother  died.     An'  that  she  should  do  it 

5 


64  DIALECT   TALES. 

who  lay  there  a  wreck  through  his  mischief !  I  tell  you,  Aunt 
Fonie,  she  is  a  angel." 

It  hed  never  occurred  ter  me  ter  look  on  Janey  Burridge 
in  that  light,  as  you  ain't  apt  to  think  of  a  angel  bein'  strong 
as  a  heifer,  an'  built  for  labor  ruther  than  a-flyin'  roun'  an' 
singin';  but  I  wuz  glad  ter  hev  Lex  Farley  appreshiate  her, 
even  though  he  stretched  the  blanket  a  little  in  doin'  so. 

After  supper  Mr.  Burridge  examined  the  cheer  most  ad- 
mirin'.  It  wuz  made  of  cherry-wood,  an'  stuffed  with  hair,  an' 
set  on  springs,  an'  covered  with  rep,  an'  it  wuz  es  fine  es  a 
coffin. 

"  It  must  'a  cost  a  sight  o'  money,"  says  Jed. 

"  A  matter  o'  fifty  dollars,"  says  Lex  Farley ;  "  but  you 
know,  Uncle  Jed,  I  don't  ever  find  it  difficult  to  make  money." 

"  True,  Lex,"  says  the  old  man,  very  kind ;  "  you  are  smart 
enough  ter  do  anything  when  you  give  the  enemy  the  go-by." 

I  wuz  a  little  skeert  at  this  plain-speakin',  fearin'  Lex  might 
take  offence;  but  he  spoke  out  quite  manful:  "Uncle  Jed,  I 
haven't  teched  a  drop  of  anything  stronger  than  tea  sence  my 
boy  come  in  an'  told  me  what  hed  happened  to  Janey.  I"made 
up  my  mind  that  instant  that  ef  the  poor  girl  wuz  gone,  I 
would  pay  all  the  funeral  expenses,  an'  put  her  up  a  handsome 
monument ;  an'  ef  she  lived,  that  I  would  come  to  see  her,  an' 
try  to  make  such  poor  reperation  es  I  could." 

"I'm  sure,"  says  Jed,  "  that  Janey  will  set  more  value  on 
your  lettin'  the  drink  alone  than  on  either  the  knittin'-machine 
or  the  wheel -cheer.  You  see,  it  runs  in  our  blood  ter  be 
gret  on  temperance.  Forty  year  ago,  when  the  Burridges  first 
settled  here,  one  of  our  first  performances  wuz  ter  git  up  a 


ON   THE  NINE- MILE.  65 

temperance  meetin'  at  Peppertown.  The  Yahoos  came  in  an' 
tried  ter  put  a  stop  to  it." 

"  The  Yahoos  ?     An'  who  were  they  ?" 

"  That  wuz  the  name  we  give  the  early  settlers.  They  wuz 
mostly  riffraff  o'  the  hardest  sort,  who  hed  drifted  here  from 
Tennessee  an'  Kentucky.  They  wuz  dead- set  agin  temper 
ance.  They  came  a-whoopin'  an'  a-ridin'  an'  a-yellin'  inter 
Peppertown  on  the  occasion  of  our  meetin';  an'  they  hed 
caught  a  wild  wolf,  which  they  turned  loose  among  the  folks, 
an'  nearly  skeered  the  women  ter  death. 

"  In  them  days  even  the  preachers  hated  ter  give  up  the'r 
whiskey.  Well,  it  wuz  a  heap  purer  article  than  you  git  now ; 
you  could  buy  it  by  the  barrel  at  a  bit  a  gallon.  Everybody 
drunk  it.  It  wuz  handed  around  ter  women  an'  children.  At 
the  races  once  old  Mrs.  Wysnicker  had  a  barrel  that  she  ped 
dled  out  by  the  drink,  an'  they  said  she  made  enough  ter  buy 
a  handsome  family  Bible." 

"  I  wish  they  would  give  us  a  purer  article  of  whiskey  in 
these  days,"  said  Mr.  Farley. 

"Lex  —  Lex  Farley,  don't  say  that!"  cried  Janey,  leanin' 
for'ard,  an'  speakin'  with  such  entreaty  as  I  never  heerd  from 
mortal  lips. 

"  You  have  gone  without  it,"  she  says,  "  from  sorrow  an' 
pity  fur  me,  an'  you  can  keep  on  in  the  good  course  fur  love 
—fur  love  of  God.  Listen  to  me,  Lex.  You  wuz  pleased  with 
my  thanks  when  I  told  you  how  the  knittin'-machine  had  com 
forted  me  an' give  me  a  new  start  in  life;  an' you  smiled  an' 
almost  cried  too  when  I  told  you  ter-day  of  the  rest  your  beau 
tiful  cheer  give  to  my  poor  tired  body.  Think,  think  what  it 


66  DIALECT   TALES. 

will  be  when  you  can  bring  the  gifts  of  a  good  an'  manly  life 
ter  the  Lord,  an'  receive  his  thanks,  an'  know  his  joy  over  the 
one  sinner  that  repents !  Oh,  Lex,  don't  give  me  more  than 
you  give  to  your  Maker !" 

It  came  like  a  thunder -clap.  I  never  would  'a  believed 
Janey  Burridge  could  have  spoke  so  beautiful.  We  wuz  all 
moved  beyond  speech.  But,  after  a  little,  Lex  Farley  says : 
"  I  won't  forgit  your  words,  Janey.  God  bless  you  fur  'em !" 

Jed  passed  his  hand  acrost  his  eyes.  "  My  friends,"  said 
he,  "it  is  Christmas  night.  Let  us  unite  in  prayer." 

An'  kneelin'  round  Janey 's  cheer,  we  prayed  in  silence,  an 
somethin'  seemed  ter  whisper  that  a  good  new  year  wuz 
a-dawnin'  fur  us  all. 

Well,  well,  Lex  Farley  wuz  in  no  hurry  to  git  away.  An' 
one  day  he  asked  our  Janey  to  marry  him. 

"  He  says,  Aunt  Fonie,"  said  Janey  to  me,  "  that  I  can  help 
him — I,  a  poor  lame  creature,  that  never  expected  to  be  of  use 
or  pleasure  ter  any  livin'  soul." 

"  He  loves  you,  dear,"  I  said,  pattin'  her  dark  head. 

"  I  can  hardly  believe  it,"  she  said,  in  a  falterin'  \vay.  "  He 
says  so  many  strange  things,  Aunt  Fonie :  that  to  be  with  me 
helps  an'  heartens  him ;  that  he  wants  nothin'  better  than  to 
work  for  me  all  his  days ;  that  he  wants  me  only  to  give  him 
my  heart — not  my  labor  an'  service,  but  my  heart." 


'Ther's  nothin'  half  so  sweet  in  life 
As  love's  young  dream,' " 


says  I,  quotin'  out  of  a  poetry  book. 


ON  THE  NINE-MILE.  67 

"  Don't  you  think,"  says  she,  very  timid,  "  that  folks  will  say 
he  wanted  me  from  pity,  an'  that  I  took  him  from  pride  ?" 

"  Fools  may,"  says  I,  very  decisive. 

The  end  of  it  all  wuz  that  she  put  him  off  six  months, 
durin'  which  time  he  wuz  as  sober  as  a  horse,  an'  then  she 
married  him.  They  went  ter  St.  Louis  ter  live,  an'  he  got  a 
run  o'  fashionable  customers,  an'  soon  we  heard  of  'em  as  sur- 
prisin'  prosperous.  A  couple  o'  years  later  her  par  an'  me 
went  ter  visit  'em ;  fur  I  hed  got  ruther  tired  o'  bein'  a 
boarder  an'  hed  married  Jed  Burridge.  That  wuz  a  visit ! 
They  hed  three  rooms  leadin'  out  o'  the  photograph  gallery— 
an  apartment,  they  called  it — an'  a  servant  to  do  the  work,  an' 
a  little  maid  to  'tend  the  door.  Lex  Farley  was  the  proudest, 
happiest  man  in  the  State.  For  Janey — bless  her!  —  with  a 
long  trailed  gown  on,  her  face  pale  and  pretty,  her  hair  curlin' 
on  her  forehead,  walked  to  meet  us,  with  a  snow-white  baby 
cuddlin'  in  her  arms. 


68 


DIALECT   TALES. 


HIERONYMUS  POP  AND  THE  BABY. 

"  TVT  O  W, 'Onymus  Pop,"  said  the  mother  of  that  gentle  boy, 
"you  jes  take  keer  o'  dis  chile   while   I'm   gone   ter  de 
hangin'.     An'  don't  you  leave  dis  house  on  no  account,  not  if 
de  skies  fall  an'  de  earth  opens  ter  swaller  yer." 


HIERONYMUS'S    CHARGE. 


Hieronymus  grunted  gloomily.  He  thought  it  a  burning 
shame  that  he  should  not  go  to  the  hanging;  but  never  had 
his  mother  been  willing  that  he  should  have  the  least  pleasure 


HIERONYMUS  POP  AND    THE  BABY. 


69 


in  life.  It  was  either  to  tend  the  baby,  or  mix  the  cow's  food, 
or  to  card  wool,  or  cut  wood,  or  to  pick  a  chicken,  or  wash  up 
the  floor,  or  to  draw  water,  or  to  sprinkle  down  the  clothes— 
always  something.  When  everything  else  failed,  she  had  a 
way,  that  seemed  to  her  son  simply  demoniac,  of  setting  him 
at  the  alphabet.  To  be  sure,  she  did  not  know  the  letters 
herself,  but  her  teaching  was  none  the  less  vigorous. 

"  What's  dat,  'Onymus  ?"  she  would  say,  pointing  at  random 
with  her  snuff-brush  to  a  letter. 


"WHAT'S  DAT?" 

«  Q  "—with  a  sniff. 

"  Is  you  shd?" — in  a  hollow  voice. 

Woe  be  unto  young  Pop  if  he  faltered,  and  said  it  might 
be  a  Z.  Mother  Pop  kept  a  rod  ready,  and  used  it  as  if  she 
were  born  for  nothing  else.  Naturally,  he  soon  learned  to  stick 


70  DIALECT   TALES. 

brazenly  to  his  first  guess.  But,  unfortunately,  he  could  not 
remember  from  one  day  to  another  what  he  had  said ;  and  his 
mother  learned,  after  a  time,  to  distinguish  the  forms  of  the 
letters,  and  to  know  that  a  curly  letter  called  S  on  Tuesday 
could  not  possibly  be  a  square -shaped  E  on  Thursday.  Her 
faith  once  shattered,  'Onymus  had  to  suffer  in  the  usual  way. 

The  lad  had  been  taught  at  spasmodic  intervals  by  his 
sister  Savannah — commonly  called  Sissy — who  went  to  school, 
put  on  airs,  and  was  always  clean.  Therefore  Hieronymus 
hated  her.  Mother  Pop  herself  was  a  little  in  awe  of  her  ac 
complished  daughter,  and  would  ask  her  no  questions,  even 
when  most  in  doubt  as  to  which  was  which  of  the  letters  G 
and  C. 

"A  pretty  thing!"  she  would  mutter  to  herself,  "if  I  must 
be  a-learnin'  things  from  my  own  chile,  dat  wuz  de  mos'  col 
icky  baby  I  ever  had,  an'  cos'  me  unheerd-of  miseries  in  de 
time  of  her  teethin'." 

It  seemed  to  Hieronymus  that  the  climax  of  his  imposi 
tions  had  come  when  he  was  forced  to  stay  at  home  and  mind 
the  baby,  while  his  mother  and  the  rest  of  them  trotted  off, 
gay  as  larks,  to  see  a  man  hanged. 

It  was  a  hot  afternoon,  and  the  unwilling  nurse  suffered. 
The -baby  wouldn't  go  to  sleep.  He  put  it  on  the  bed — a 
feather-bed — and  why  it  didn't  drop  off  to  sleep,  as  a  proper 
baby  should,  was  more  than  the  tired  soul  of  Hieronymus 
could  tell.  He  did  everything  to  soothe  Tiddlekins.  (The 
infant  had  not  been  named  as  yet,  and  by  way  of  affection 
they  addressed  it  as  Tiddlekins.)  He  even  went  so  far  as  to 
wave  the  flies  away  from  it  with  a  mulberry  branch  for  the 


HIERONYMUS  POP  AND    THE  BABY.  71 

space  of  five  or  ten  minutes.  But  as  it  still  fretted  and  tossed 
he  let  it  severely  alone,  and  the  flies  settled  on  the  little  black 
thing  as  if  it  had  been  a  licorice  stick. 

After  a  while  Tiddlekins  grew  aggressive,  and  began  to 
yell.  Hieronymus,  who  had  almost  found  consolation  in  study 
ing  a  gory  picture  pasted  on  the  wall,  cut  from  the  weekly 
paper  of  a  wicked  city,  was  deprived  even  of  this  solace.  He 
picked  up  "  de  miserbul  little  screech-owl,"  as  he  called  it  in 
his  wrath.  He  trotted  it.  He  sung  to  it  the  soothing  ditty  of 

"  'Tain't  never  gwine  to  rain  no  mo' ; 
Sun  shines  down  on  rich  and  po'." 

But  all  was  vain.  Finally,  in  despair,  he  undressed  Tiddle 
kins.  He  had  heard  his  mother  say,  "  Of'en  and  of'en  when  a 


HIERONYMUS    SINGS    A    SOOTHING    DITTY. 


72  DIALECT   TALES. 

chile  is  a-screamin'  its   breff  away  'tain't   nothin'  ails   it  'cep'n 

.  •     j> 
pins. 

But  there  were  no  pins.  Plenty  of  strings  and  hard  knots, 
but  not  a  pin  to  account  for  the  antics  of  the  unhappy  Tiddle- 
kins. 

How  it  did  scream  !  It  lay  on  the  stiffly  braced  knees  of 
Hieronymus,  and  puckered  up  its  face  so  tightly  that  it  looked 
as  if  it  had  come  fresh  from  a  wrinkle  mould.  There  were  no 
tears,  but  sharp,  regular  yells,  and  rollings  of  its  head,  and  a 
distracting  monotony  in  its  performances. 

"  Dis  here  chile  looks  's  if  it's  got  de  measles,"  muttered 
Hi,  gazing  on  the  squirming  atom  with  calm  eyes  of  despair. 
Then,  running  his  fingers  over  the  neck  and  breast  of  the 
small  Tiddlekins,  he  cried,  with  the  air  of  one  who  makes  a 
discovery,  "  It's  got  de  heat!  Dat's  what  ails  Tiddlekins!" 

There  was  really  a  little  breaking  out  on  the  child's  body 
that  might  account  for  his  restlessness  and  squalls.  And  it 
was  siuh  a  hot  day!  Perspiration  streamed  down  Hi's  back, 
while  his  head  was  dry.  There  was  not  a  quiver  in  the 
tree  leaves,  and  the  silver -poplars  showed  only  their  leaden 
side.  The  sunflowers  were  drooping  their  big  heads ;  the  flies 
seemed  to  stick  to  the  window-panes,  and  were  too  languid  to 
crawl. 

Hieronymus  had  in  him  the  materials  of  which  philoso 
phers  are  made.  He  said  to  himself,  "'Tain't  nothin'  but  heat 
dat's  de  matter  wid  dis.  baby;  so  uf  cose  he  ought  ter  be  cooled 
off." 

But  how  to  cool  him  off — that  was  the  great  question.  Hi 
knitted  his  dark  brows  and  thought  intently. 


HIERONYMUS  POP  AND    THE  BABY.  78 

It  happened  that  the  chiefest  treasure  of  the  Pop  estate 
was  a  deep  old  well  that  in  the  hottest  days  yielded  water  as 
refreshing  as  iced  champagne.  The  neighbors  all  made  a  con 
venience  of  the  Pop  well.  And  half-way  down  its  long,  cool 
hollow  hung,  pretty  much  all  of  the  time,  milk  cans,  butter 
pats,  fresh  meats  —  all  things  that  needed  to  be  kept  cool  in 
summer  days. 

He  looked  at  the  hot,  squirming,  wretched  black  baby  on 
his  lap  ;  then  he  looked  at  the  well ;  and,  simple,  straightfor 
ward  lad  that  he  was,  he  put  this  and  that  together. 

"  If  I  wuz  ter  hang  Tiddlekins  down  de  well,"  he  reflected, 
"'twouldn't  be  mo'  dan  three  jumps  of  a  flea  befo'  he's  as  cool 
as  Christmas." 

With  this  quick-witted  youth  to  think  was  to  act.  Before 
many  minutes  he  had  stuffed  poor  little  Tiddlekins  into  the 
well  bucket,  though  it  must  be  mentioned  to  his  credit  that 
he  tied  the  baby  securely  in  with  his  own  suspenders. 

Warmed  up  with  his  exertions,  content  in  this  good  rid 
dance  of  such  bad  rubbish  as  Tiddlekins,  Hieronymus  reposed 
himself  on  the  feather-bed,  and  dropped  off  into  a  sweet  slum 
ber.  From  this  he  was  aroused  by  the  voice  of  a  small  boy. 

"Hello,  Hi!     I  say,  Hi  Pop!  whar  is  yer?" 

u  Here  I  is  !"  cried  Hi,  starting  up.     "  What  you  want  ?" 

Little  Jim  Rogers  stood  in  the  door-way. 

"  Towzer's  dog,"  he  said,  in  great  excitement,  "  and  daddy's 
bull-pup  is  gwine  ter  have  a  fight  dis  evenin' !  Come  on  quick, 
if  yer  wants  ter  see  de  fun." 

Up  jumped  Hi,  and  the  two  boys  were  off  like  a  flash. 
Not  one  thought  to  Tiddlekins  in  the  well  biicket ! 


74 


DIALECT   TALES. 


DISPOSING   OF   TIDDLEKINS. 


In  due  time  the  Pop  family  got  home,  and  Mother  Pop, 
fanning  herself,  was  indulging  in  the  moral  reflections  suitable 
to  the  occasion,  when  she  checked  herself  suddenly,  exclaiming, 
"But,  land  o' Jerusalem !  whar's  'Onymus  an'  de  baby?" 

"  I  witnessed  Hieronymus,"  said  the  elegant  Savannah,  "  as 

4 

I  wandered  from  school.  He  was  with  a  multitude  of  boys, 
who  cheered,  without  a  sign  of  disap/^ration,  two  canine  beasts 
that  tore  each  other  in  deadly  feud." 

"Yer  don't  mean  ter  say,  Sissy,  dat  'Onymus  Pop  is  gone 
ter  a  dog  fight  ?" 

"  Such  are  my  meaning,"  said  Sissy,  with  dignity. 

"Den  whars  de  baby?" 


HIERONYMUS  POP  AND    THE  BABY. 


75 


For   answer,  a   long,  low   wail    smote    upon    their   ears,  as 
Savannah  would  have  said. 

"  Fan  me  !"  cried  Mother  Pop.  "  Dat's  Tiddlekins's  voice." 
u  Never  min'  about  fannin'  mammy,"  cried  Weekly,  Savan 
nah's  twin,  a  youth  of  fifteen,  who  could  read,  and  was  much 
addicted  to  tales  of  thunder  and  blood ;  "  let's  fin'  de  baby. 
P'r'aps  he's  been  murdered  by  dat  ruffian  Hi,  an'  dat's  his 
ghos  dat  we  hears  a-callin'." 


IN    SUSPENSE. 


A  search  was  instituted — under  the  bed,  in  the  bed,  in  the 
wash-tub  and  the  soup-kettle ;  behind  the  wood-pile,  and  in  the 
pea  vines;  up  the  chimney,  and  in  the  ash-hopper;  but  all  in 
vain.  No  Tiddlekins  appeared,  though  still  they  heard  him 
cry. 


76  DIALECT   TALES. 

"  Shade  of  Ole  Hickory !"  cried  the  father  Pop,  "  whar, 
whar  is  dat  chile  ?"  Then,  with  a  sudden  lighting  of  the  eye, 
"  Unchain  de  dog,"  said  he;  "he'll  smell  him  out." 

There  was  a  superannuated  blood-hound  pertaining  to  the 
Pop  menage  that  they  kept  tied  up  all  day,  under  a  delusion 
that  he  was  fierce.  They  unchained  this  wild  animal,  and 
with  many  kicks  endeavored  to  goad  his  nostrils  to  their 
duty. 

It  happened  that  a  piece  of  fresh  pork  hung  in  the  well, 
and  Lord  Percy — so  was  the  dog  called — was  hungry.  So  he 
hurried  with  vivacity  toward  the  fresh  pork. 

"De  well !"  shrieked  Mother  Pop,  tumbling  down  all  in  a 
heap,  and  looking  somehow  like  Turner's  "  Slave-ship,"  as  one 
stumpy  leg  protruded  from  the  wreck  of  red  flannel  and  ruffled 
petticoats. 

"What  shall  we  do  ?"  said  Sissy,  with  a  helpless  squeak. 

"Why,  git  him  out,"  said  Mr.  Pop,  who  was  the  practical 
one  of  the  family. 

He  began  to  draw  up  the  well  bucket,  aided  by  Weekly, 
who  whispered,  darkly,  "Dar'll  be  anudder  hangin'  in  town 
befo'  long,  and  Hi  wont  miss  dat  hanging 

Soon  appeared  a  little  woolly  head,  then  half  a  black  body, 
the  rest  of  him  being  securely  wedged  in  the  well  bucket.  He 
looked  like  a  Jack-in-the-box.  But.  he  was  cool,  Tiddlekins  was 
— no  doubt  of  that. 

Mother  Pop  revived  at  sight  of  her  offspring,  still  living, 
and  feebly  sucking  his  thumb. 

"Ef  we  had  a  whiskey  bath  ter  put  him  in!"  she  cried. 

Into  the  house  flew  Father  Pop,  seized  the  quart  cup,  and 


H1ERONYMUS  POP  AND    THE  BABY. 


77 


"  DE  WELL!"  SHRIEKED  MOTHER  POP* 

was  over  to  the  white  house  on  the  hill  in  the  wink  of  a  cat's 
eye. 

"He  stammered  forth  his  piteous  tale,"  said  Savannah,  tell 
ing  the  story  the  next  day  to  her  school-mates ;  "  and  Judge 
Chambers  himself  filled  his  cup  with  the  best  of  Bourbon,  and 
Miss  Clara  came  over  to  see  us  resusirate  the  infant." 


78 


DIALECT   TALES. 


Mother  Pop  had  Tiddlekins  wrapped  in  hot  flannel  when 
he  got  back ;  and  with  a  never-to-be-sufficiently-admired  econ 
omy  Mr.  Pop  moistened  a  rag  with  "  the  best  of  Bourbon,"  and 


RESUSCITATING   TIDDLEKENS. 


said  to  his  wife,  "Jes  rub  him  awhile,  Cynthy,  an'  see  if  dat 
won't  bring  him  roun'." 

As  she  rubbed  he  absent-mindedly  raised  the  quart  cup  to 
his  lips,  and  with  three  deep  and  grateful  gulps  the  whiskey 
bath  went  to  refresh  the  inner  man  of  Tiddlekins's  papa. 

Then    who  so  valorous   and  so  affectionate  as  he  ?     Dire 


HIERONYMUS  POP  AND    THE  BABY. 


79 


were  his  threats  against  Hieronymus,  deep  his  lamentations 
over  his  child. 

"  My  po'  little  lammie  !"  he  sobbed.  "  Work  away,  Cynthy. 
Dat  chile  mus'  be  saved,  even  if  I  should  have  ter  go  over 
ter  de  judge's  fur  anudder  quart  o'  whiskey.  Nuthin'  shall  be 
spared  to  save  that  preciousest  kid  o'  my  ole  age." 

Miss  Clara  did  not  encourage  his  self-sacrificing  proposal ; 
but,  for  all  that,  it  was  not  long  before  Tiddlekins  grew  warm 
and  lively,  and  winked  at  his  father  —  so  that  good  old  man 
declared — as  he  lay  on  his  back,  placidly  sucking  a  pig's  tail. 


HIERONYMUS    RETURNS. 


Savannah  had  roasted  it  in  the  ashes,  and  it  had  been  cut 
from  the  piece  of  pork  that  had  shared  the  well  with  Tiddle 
kins.  The  pork  belonged  to  a  neighbor,  by-the-way ;  but  at 

0 


80 


DIALECT   TALES. 


such  a  time  the  Pop  family  felt  that  they  might  dispense  with 
the  vain  and  useless  ceremony  of  asking  for  it. 

The  excitement  was  over,  the  baby  asleep,  Miss  Clara  gone, 
and  the  sun  well  on  its  way  to  China,  when  a  small  figure  was 
seen  hovering  diffidently  about  the  gate.  It  had  a  limp  air 
of  dejection,  and  seemed  to  feel  some  delicacy  about  coming 
farther. 

"  The  miscreant  is  got  back,"  remarked  Savannah. 

"  Hieronymus,"  called  Mrs.  Pop,  "you  may  thank  yo'  heav 
enly  stars  dat  you  ain't  a  murderer  dis  summer  day — " 

"A-waitin'  ter  be  hung  nex'  wild -grape -time,"  finished 
Weekly,  pleasantly. 

Mr.  Pop  said  nothing.  But  he  reached  down  from  the 
mantel- shelf  a  long,  thin  something,  shaped  like  a  snake,  and 
quivered  it  in  the  air. 

Then  he  walked  out  to  Hi,  and,  taking  him  by  the  left  ear, 
led  him  to  the  wood-pile. 

And  here —     But  I  draw  a  veil. 


SISTER    WEED  EN'S  PRAYER.  81 


SISTER   WE  ED  EN'S  PRAYER. 

,  we  had  gethered  at  the  river,  as  the  song  says,  to  see 
a  sight  as  might  have  surprised  the  angels.  Ther'  wuz 
a  crowd,  sure.  They  had  come  from  the  four-mile,  an'  the  six- 
mile,  an'  the  nine -mile,  an'  from  down  in  the  timber,  an'  ther' 
wuz  even  a  pretty  smart  sprinklin'  o'  town  folks,  kind  of  apart 
from  the  rest,  with  a  plenty  of  artificial  flowers  in  the'r  hats, 
an'  an  air  of  gentility  that  differed  'em  from  the  farmers' 
women,  with  the'r  sun-bonnets  an'  babies.  It  wuz  four  o'clock 
of  a  Sunday  afternoon,  an'  they  wuz  all  assembled  to  see 
young  Roland  Selph  baptized  by  Preacher  Powell,  who  ex 
pounded  the  Word  four  times  a  year  at  Big  Muddy  meetin'- 
house. 

It  wuz  a'most  like  a  meracle.  Roland  wuz  a  hard  case. 
My  husband — who,  bein'  one  o'  the  "swearin'  Wallers,"  as  they 
wuz  called  in  Grandpar  Waller's  day,  had  a  sort  of  ancesterl 
talent  for  usin'  strong  words — an'  better  that  than  for  usin' 
strong  drink,  says  I,  when  twitted,  for  what  is  words  but  a 
slap-dash  thrown  together  of  letters  ?  an'  if  a  man  chooses  'em 
hard,  like  goose -quills,  instead  o'  soft,  like  goose -down,  an' 
nobody's  hurt,  then  where's  the  harm?  —  well,  my  husband  he 
allays  said  that  Roland  wuz  the  "  darnedest  man  to  cuss 
on  the  prairie."  He  never  had  had  no  bringin'  up  wuz  the 


82  DIALECT   TALES. 

trouble.  His  father,  a  rele  active,  nice  man,  wuz  killed  in  a 
mill  six  months  before  he  wuz  born,  an'  his  mother  she  took 
on  so  that  she  didn't  have  no  strength  to  git  him  even  so 
far  along  as  teethin'.  So  his  grandmother  she  raised  him 
on  sheep's  milk  an'  a  peach-tree  switch.  Kicks  an'  cuffs 
wuz  sandwiched  between  the  poor  child's  meals,  until  the  old 
woman  died  an'  left  him,  kithless  an'  kinless  in  the  land.  A 
wild-lookin'  lad  he  wuz,  with  a  shock  o'  black  hair  that  you 
couldn't  'a  combed  with  a  wool-card,  an'  big  eyes  bold  as  the 
hub  of  a  wheel,  an'  clothed  summer  an'  winter  in  rags!  He 
wuz  mightily  in  demand  at  harvest-time,  for  he  wuz  as  strong 
as  a  horse,  an'  hadn't  had  a  chill  since  his  grandmother  broke 
'em  on  him  at  the  age  of  fourteen  with  black  pepper  an' 
molasses  an'  santonine,  an'  a  bag  o'  camphor  at  the  pit  of  his 
stomach.  But  people  wuz  powerful  shy  of  associatin'  with 
him.  He  wuz  druv  to  the  saloons  for  company ;  an'  they  said 
he  could  drink  a  quart  o'  whiskey  as  if  it  wuz  spring-water. 

How  it  had  come  about  nobody  knew.  Brother  Powell 
never  wuz  counted  to  have  much  influence,  an'  he  looked 
powerful  little  an'  meachin'-like  beside  Roland,  tall  an'  broad- 
chested,  an'  as  handsome  as  anybody  in  a  brarunew  suit  o' 
brown  jeans  an'  a  white  shirt  clean  as  clean. 

As  he  went  down  into  the  water  the  men  took  off  the'r 
hats  with  a  soft,  loose  sweep,  an'  the  women  hushed  the'r 
babies  at  the'r  breasts.  The  sun  shone  out  broad  an'  mellow ; 
everything  seemed  to  listen,  somehow,  as  the  words  wuz  ut 
tered  over  that  wild,  forsakened  one  that  made  him  a  member 
o'  Christ's  great  family.  Then  what  a  crowdin'  roun'  an'  a 
han'-shakin'  as  he  came  out  drippin',  an'  castin'  a  glance  round 


SISTER   WEEDEN'S  PRAYER.  83 

half  beseechin'  an'  half  a-darin'!  It  wuz  wuth  comin'  a  long 
way  jest  to  see  that  poor  sinner  a-welcomed  inter  the  fold. 

But  I  noticed  one  curious  thing.  Mrs.  Biscoe  wuz  there, 
with  her  two  daughters,  Leila  an'  Jenny — Rose  an'  Lily  we 
used  to  call  'em,  seein'  as  how  one  wuz  a  red  beauty  an'  one  a 
white.  Jenny — she  wuz  the  fair  one  —  wuz  the  most  help  to 
her  mother.  Leila,  for  all  her  rosy  cheeks  an'  black  eyes,  wuz 
a  lazy  little  flitter-gibbet.  Mrs.  Biscoe  she  wuz  a  widow:  a 
little,  straight,  dark  woman,  with  plenty  of  snap  to  her,  who 
took  in  sewin'  for  a  livin',  an'  wuz  much  respected  in  the 
Baptist  society.  Well,  she  gave  a  quick  little  nod  to'ards 
Roland  jest  before  he  wuz  dipped,  an'  she  said,  in  kind  of  an 
undertone,  "  They  do  look  nice  girls,  don't  they  ?"  I  studied 
quite  a  spell  over  this  speech,  but  I  couldn't  exactly  make  out 
what  she  meant  by  it. 

Some  days  after  the  baptizin',  Mrs.  Wysnicker  of  the  four- 
mile  invited  all  the  society  to  a  wool-pickin'.  Ther'  wuzn't 
any  declinations,  for  Mrs.  Wysnicker  wuz  a  master-hand  for 
dinners.  Never  did  she  sit  you  down  to  her  table  unless  she 
had  "  fresh,"  an'  maybe  a  couple  o'  chickens  besides ;  an'  her 
pie -crust  would  break  inter  honest  flakes  if  you  so  much  as 
p'inted  a  knife  at  it.  Furthermore,  we  wanted  to  see  if  her 
wool  was  so  much  finer  than  anybody  else's.  She  had  boasted 
considerable  about  it,  an'  we  understood  that  she  sheared  four 
teen  pounds  to  a  sheep.  So  it  was  candle-light  breakfast  all 
over  the  prairie,  an'  by  seven  o'clock  we  wuz  mostly  assembled 
in  Mrs.  Wysnicker's  sittin'-room,  ready  for  work.  The  wool 
wuz  on  a  sheet  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  an'  a  powerful  big 
pile  it  wuz :  seemed  as  if  it  reached  nearly  to  the  ceilin'.  We 


84  DIALECT   TALES. 

wuz  all  a-settin'  round  it,  pretty  prim,  a-waitin'  for  the  stiffness 
to  wear  off. 

Ther'  wuz  one  person  I  wuz  surprised  to  see  in  the  com 
pany,  an'  that  wuz  Florindy  Daggett.  'Twan't  often  anybody 
sighted  her  at  wool-pickin's  or  apple-parin's  or  rag-tackin's,  for 
she  set  up  for  a  genteel,  an'  always  washed  dishes  with  a  mop. 
She  wuz  a  powerful  dressy  woman,  too.  Husband  he  allays 
said  she  wuz  the  kind  that  'ud  gin  a  man's  pocket  the  swin- 
ney.  But  she  loved  talk  beyond  dress.  It  wuz  joked  around 
that  old  man  Daggett  told  her  once  that  he'd  nuss  her  cheer 
ful  through  a  twenty-years'  spell,  if  her  disease  jest  happened 
to  be  paralysis  of  the  tongue.  Ther's  apt  to  be  mischief,  too, 
in  the  tongues  of  these  talkin'  females.  Thar  she  set,  her 
mouth  a-puckered  up,  three  sand-colored  curls  a-hangin'  as  fur 
as  her  nose  on  each  side,  an',  as  a  last  dyin'  touch,  kid  gloves. 
We  didn't  none  of  us  take  much  notice  of  her,  but  we  started 
out  pickin'  wool  pretty  peart.  After  a  little,  Florindy  she 
sithed  an'  said,  "  Sister  Wysnicker,  what's  the  duty  of  one 
sister  in  the  society  when  she's  discovered  another  sister  in 
the  act  o'  backslidin'?" 

"  P'raps  she  might  make  her  a  present  of  Brother  Throck- 
morton's  '  Serious  Review  of  Infant  Sprinklers,' "  says  Sister 
Wysnicker,  who  gits  a  laugh  out  of  most  things  goin'. 

"  This  is  no  matter  for  jokin',"  says  Florindy,  solemn  as 
Moses  in  the  bulrushes. 

Farmer  Sweet's  wife  spoke  up  very  excited :  "  Sister  Dag 
gett,  you  do  surprise  me  all  to  pieces !  Hev  you  reely  caught 
a  backslider  ?  A  man,  of  course.  Bad  is  the  best  of  'em.  Do 
pray  don't  wait  another  minute.  Tell  us  all  about  it."  She 


SISTER    WEED  EN'S  PRAYER.  85 

wuz  a  little,  sharp  woman,  whose  words  tumbled  out  of  her 
mouth  fast  as  chopped  straw  out  of  a  thrashirT- machine,  an1 
had  jest  about  as  much  cash  value. 

"  No  man,"  says  Florindy :  "  it  wuz  a  woman.  An'  what 
she  wuz  doin'  is  so  ser'ous  an'  awful  that  reveal  it  I  won't 
unless  the  sisters  here  think  it  is  my  duty'" 

Well,  now,  do  you  know,  not  one  of  us  had  the  Christian 
charity  to  say,  "  Hold  your  tongue,  Florindy."  Truth  is,  we 
wuz  dyin'  to  hear  what  it  wuz :  so  we  jest  edged  our  cheers  a 
little  closer  together,  an'  sort  of  slacked  in  the  wool-pickin'. 

"  Last  Sunday,  about  noon,"  says  Florindy,  speakin1  slow 
an'  impressive,  "as  I  wuz  a-returnin'  home  after  visitin'  my 
brother's  sick  child,  my  throat  got  so  dry  that  I  knew  I  must 
have  a  drink  of  water.  So  I  stopped  at  a  certain  cottage  on 
the  four- mile,  where  there  is  an  althea-bush  a-growin'  in  the 
yard,  an'  an  oleander  in  a  tub  by  the  steps— 

"  The  Biscoes !" 

"  I  name  no  names.  The  front  door  wuz  shut,  an'  the 
blinds  wuz  drawn  close,  an'  I  mistrusted  they  wuz  not  at 
home.  So  I  opened  the  slats  very  gently  an'  looked  in — ' 

"  An'  what  did  ye  see  ?  Do,  for  goodness'  sake,  stop  look- 
in'  so  mysterious."  An'  Farmer  Sweet's  wife  tore  at  a  piece 
of  wool  quite  reckless. 

U7  saw  the  three  of  "em — on  the  Lord's-day — in  a  room  dark 
as  iniquity — a-sewin  for  dear  life  T 

"Sewin'!"     "Sewin'!"     "Sewin'!"     "Sewin'l"     "Sewin'!" 

You  reely  would  have  thought  it  wuz  the  hissin'  of  a  ring 
of  geese. 

"I   stood   there  for  a  minute,"  says   Florindy,  "quite  stag- 


86  DIALECT   TALES. 

nated,  as  you  may  say,  with  surprise ;  an',  besides,  I  wanted  to 
see  what  they  wuz  sewin'  on.  But  I  couldn't  make  out,  for  the 
life  o'  me,  an'  I  didn't  dare  to  open  the  slats  any  wider/' 

"  That  ain't  the  pint  at  all,"  says  Sister  Sweet :  "  whether 
'twas  carpet-rags,  or  seed-bags,  or  satin  robes  for  the  rich,  it's 
all  one.  The  sin  wuz  in  sewin'  at  all  on  the  Lord's-day." 

"Unless  it  wuz  for  a  corpse,"  says  Sister  Wysnicker,  " or 
funeral  clothes  for  the  family." 

"Well,  it  ain't  no  question  of  a  corpse  this  time.  An' 
what's  to  be  done  about  it?" 

"  I'm  lookin'  for  Sister  Biscoe  every  minute.  She's  a 
mighty  good  hand  at  wool,  an'  she  promised  to  come  soon  as 
ever  she  could  git  off." 

"  All  I  have  to  say,"  cries  Florindy,  "  is  that  when  she 
steps  in  I  steps  out.  Hold  countenance  with  sinners  I  won't. 
You  can't  touch  pitch  an'  not  be  defiled.  Ther's  doctrine 
for  it." 

Mrs.  Wysnicker  looked  powerful  bothered,  jest  as  if  she 
didn't  know  which  way  to  turn.  "We  haven't  heard  from 
Sister  Weeden  yet,"  says  she :  "  perhaps  she  will  give  us  a 
word  in  season." 

Sister  Weeden  wuz  the  impressivest  female  in  the  Baptist 
society.  She  wuz  tall  an'  clean-cut,  an'  not  a  bend  in  her  from 
neck  to  knee.  What  she  said  wuz  said.  She  had  high  cheek 
bones,  an'  black  eyes,  an'  a  great  twist  of  milk-white  hair  coiled 
on  top  of  her  head.  "  I  have  listened,"  says  she,  "  an'  if  what 
Sister  Daggett  charges  shell  be  proven  true,  we  must  expel 
Dorothy  Biscoe  from  the  society  an'  leave  her  to  the  mercy 
of  God." 


SISTER    WEED  EN'S  PRAYER.  87 

Cold  shivers  ran  down  our  backs :  it  wuz  jest  as  if  she  had 
said  Selah. 

At  this  minute  I  happened  to  look  sideways  through  a 
crack  in  the  door,  an'  what  should  I  see  but  Leila  Biscoe  half 
stretched  out  on  a  lounge,  with  a  picture-paper  crumpled  up  in 
her  hand!  Her  head  wuz  up,  an'  she  wuz  a-listenin'  with  all 
her  ears,  her  face  red  as  fire,  an'  her  eyes  sparklin',  as  lazy 
brown  eyes  will  when  they  git  fired  up. 

Up  she  jumped  as  she  caught  my  eye  an'  ran  out  of  the 
other  door.  I  said  nothin'  to  anybody,  but  I  quietly  slipped 
after  the  child,  a-leavin'  my  bonnet  behind.  I  mistrusted  she 
wuz  goin'  to  meet  her  mother;  an',  sure  enough,  Mrs.  Biscoe 
an'  Jenny  wuz  footin'  it  along  the  road,  when  Leila  flew  at  'em, 
raisin'  the  dust  with  a  swirl  around  her.  "  Mother,"  she  cries, 
"dont  go  near  'em.  Dorit!  the  scandalous  old  cats!" 

"  Leily  Biscoe !  what  under  the  blue  sky  air  you  talkin' 
about  ?"  She  took  the  child  by  the  arm  an'  plumped  her  down 
into  a  fence-corner.  "  Now  !"  says  she. 

"  Why,  mammie,  that  horrid,  sneakin',  pryin',  white-eyed — ' 

"Leila!" 

"  Well,  then,  the  beautiful  Mistress  Florinda  Daggett  peeped 
into  our  windows  last  Sunday — " 

"  Oh !" 

"An'  saw  us  sewin';  an'  they  are  havin'  no  end  of  a  time 
about  it,  an'  won't  sit  in  the  room  with  you,  an'  say  you  shall 
be  expelled  from  the  society — " 

"So!" 

I  put  in  a  word  now,  an'  tried  to  smooth  down  matters ; 
but,  my  stars !  Sister  Biscoe  looked  as  if  she  could  bite  steel. 


88  DIALECT   TALES. 

"  Let's  go  home,  mammie,"  said  Jenny,  beginnin'  to  cry. 

"Home!"  says  she:  "we're  goin'  to  the  wool-pickin'." 

"  But  I  tell  you,"  cried  Leila,  "  they  won't  have  you ;  they 
will  insult  you." 

"  You  can  go  home  if  you  want  to." 

Leila  felt,  maybe,  that  she  hadn't  deserved  sech  a  snub,  so 
she  tossed  her  head  an'  followed  her  mar.  I  could  hardly  keep 
up  with  'em.  I  hadn't  felt  so  warmed  up  an'  excited  not  sence 
I  brought  Belle  Burns  through  a  congestive  chill  after  the 
doctor  had  give  her  up. 

My  soul !  them  women  jumped  when  they  seen  the  widow 
an'  her  two  daughters  standin'  at  the  door,  as  if  the  sheared 
sheep  wuz  a-chargin'  in  after  the  wool  they'd  been  robbed  of. 

u  I  hear,"  says  Sister  Biscoe,  "  that  my  friends  an'  neighbors 
have  been  makin'  mighty  free  with  my  name." 

"  Lor !"  says  Sister  Wysnicker,  in  a  quaverin'  sort  o'  voice ; 
44  who's  been  a-bearin'  any  slanderous  tale  to  you  ?" 

"  Slanderous,  is  it  ?  Well,  my  daughter  Leila  is  the  bearer. 
I  sent  her  on  ahead  of  me  this  morn  in',  an'  she  wuzn't  no 
farther  from  your  talk  than  the  next  room." 

"  Nobody's  said  nothin'  that  they  ain't  willin'  to  stand  by," 
snapped  Florindy  Daggett.  "  Women  that  use  God's  day  for 
puttin'  money  in  their  pockets  must  be  ready  to  face  the 
consequences." 

Two  red  spots  came  out  on  the  widow's  cheeks;  her  eyes 
shot  sparks  like  flints  struck  together.  "I've  nothin'  to  say  to 
you"  she  says,  turnin'  her  back  on  Florindy,  "  but  the  rest  of 
you  shall  hear  what's  behind  the  story  she's  told.  It  looks  as 
if  those  that  has  known  me  all  my  life,  watched  me  strugglin' 


SfSTEX    WEEDEN'S  PRAYER.  89 

with  poverty,  workin'  to  keep  a  roof  over  these  two  girls  that 
wuz  left  babes  on  my  hands,  an'  never  heard  so  much  as  a 
breath  against  me  or  mine,  might  'a  waited  a  little  before 
talkin'  about  expellin'  me  from  the  society." 

Everybody  colored  up,  an'  Farmer  Sweet's  wife  she  whim 
pered  a  little. 

u  I  wish  you'd  take  a  cheer,  Sister  Biscoe,"  said  Sister 
Wysnicker,  real  entreatin'. 

"  I'll  sit  in  no  house  nor  break  bread  under  no  roof  till  my 
pardon  has  been  asked  by  all  that  thought  ill  of  me." 

Florindy  sniffed,  but  no  one  j'ined  in. 

"  Last  Friday  night  a  week  ago,"  says  Sister  Biscoe,  "  Ro 
land  Selph  knocked  with  his  ridin'-whip  against  my  door. 
Jenny  opened  it,  a-drawin'  back  when  she  saw  who  it  wuz,  for 
Roland  has  a  kiss  an'  a  joke  for  every  girl  who  will  let  him 
come  near  enough.  But  he  walked  in  very  quiet,  a-followin' 
her  into  the  back  room,  where  I  sat  sewin'. 

" '  Mrs.  Biscoe,'  says  he,  '  can  you  make  me  some  decent 
clothes  agin  Sunday?' 

'"Not  agin  Sunday,  Roland,'  says  I,  'for  it's  Friday  night 
now.' 

"  He  set  quite  a  while  without  sayin'  anything,  a-hittin'  his 
boot  with  his  whip,  an'  finally  he  said,  in  a  loud,  defiant  sort 
of  way,  that  he  hed  thought  of  bein'  baptized  Sunday,  if  he 
could  git  anything  to  put  on  his  back,  for  he  wuz  perfectly 
ragged. 

"  '  You  baptized !'  says  Leila,  pertly.  '  Is  the  world  comin' 
to  an  end  ?' 

"  *  Mebbe,'  says  he,  very  sullen,  an'  got  up  as  if  he   would 


90  DIALECT   TALES. 

go.  But  I  found  strength  to  stop  him.  l  Good  gracious !'  says 
I,  4  don't  fly  off  the  handle ;  let's  talk  it  over.' 

"  The  long  and  the  short  of  it  is  that  I  soon  saw  Roland 
wuz  a-tremblin'  between  two  worlds.  He  wuz  that  unregener- 
ate  that  he  wouldn't  face  the  public  at  Big  Muddy  without  the 
befittin'  clothes,  yet  the  Spirit  wuz  so  workin'  within  him  that 
he  had  set  his  heart  on  sealin'  himself  to  God  the  comin' 
Sunday.  I  thought  of  suggestin'  to  him  to  wait  until  Brother 
Powell  came  round  again ;  but,  seein'  as  how  he  wuz  just  out 
of  the  devil's  clutches  by  a  needle's  length,  as  you  may  say,  I 
didn't  dare  to  say  *  put  it  off'  to  him.  Would  any  sister  here 
have  done  it  ?" 

"  NO !"  says  Sister  Weeden,  lettin'  the  word  drop  very 
ponderous. 

"  It  might  be  then  or  never.  To  be  the  means  of  stoppin' 
him  wuz  more  of  a  responsibility  than  I  could  shoulder.  There 
wuz  tears  on  Jenny's  cheeks,  an'  she  whispered  to  me,  '  Say 
that  you  will,  mammie.'  An'  even  Leila  nodded  when  I  looked 
inquirin'  at  her.  '  Roland,'  says  I,  '  we'll  do  it.  Come  for  your 
clothes  Sunday  noon.  They'll  be  ready,  and  without  money 
an'  without  price,  for  it's  the  Lord's  work.' 

"  We  got  'em  cut  out  that  night,  an'  we  worked  steady  Sat 
urday,  an'  Saturday  night,  an'  Sunday  mornin'.  Yes,  we  did 
work  on  the  Lord's-day,  for  mortal  fingers  couldn't  'a  finished 
the  job  without. 

"  By  luck  an'  plannin'  we  saved  all  the  hand-sewin'  till  the 
last,  so  that  the  noise  of  a  machine  runnin'  on  Sunday  shouldn't 
bring  reproach  on  my  house.  For  many  a  thing  is  all  right  if 
it's  kept  quiet  that  fools  label  wrong  if  it  comes  to  their  ears. 


SISTER   WEED  EN'S  PRAYER.  91 

"  That's  about  the  whole  story.  You  all  saw  Roland  Selph 
baptized  that  afternoon,  an'  can  bear  witness  to  how  modest 
an'  handsome  he  looked  in  his  clean  new  suit,  with  the  light 
of  the  Gospel  a-shinin'  on  his  face.  I  won't  speak  of  myself; 
but  as  for  my  two  girls,  who  had  gone  without  rest  an'  food, 
an'  worked  their  fingers  sore,  to  put  him  where  he  stood,  I 
only  hope  that  all  of  you  said  'Amen'  to  Brother  Powell's 
prayer  with  as  clean  a  conscience  as  theirs.  An'  I  will  say 
for  myself  that,  just  as  sure  as  my  name  is  Dorothy  Biscoe, 
I  would  do  it  all  over  again  !  An  it's  a  business  between  me 
an  my  God" 

She  had  swept  us  all  along;  and  we  wuz  throwed  into  a 
confusion  when  she  stopped  short  an'  sudden,  as  if  waitin'  for 
some  one  to  speak.  Nobody  knew  jest  how  to  lead  off,  an'  it 
wuz  a  relief  when  Sister  Weeden  rose  up  an'  says,  "  Let  us  pray!" 

Down  we  all  knelt  promiscuous,  the  wool  a-scatterin'  from 
our  laps,  an'  Sister  Weeden,  without  stoppin'  a  minute  to  think 
up  her  words  —  for  prayin'  comes  to  her  by  nature  —  began: 
ki  O  Father,  our  hearts  is  vile  an'  unclean  as  the  wool  we've 
been  pickin'  out  this  day;  quick  to  catch  at  evil  as  sheep's 
backs  to  catch  at  brambles  an'  briers  in  pushin'  through  a 
thicket ;  clogged  with  meanness  an'  jealousies  an'  suspicions, 
till  they're  got  no  will  nor  power  to  beat  harmonious  with  thy 
Spirit,  which  is  love.  O  Lord,  we'd  give  up,  despairin',  if  it 
wuzn't  that  immortal  patience  can  cleanse  them  of  trash  that 
defiles ;  if  it  wuzn't  that  Immanuel's  blood  can  wash  the  black 
ness  of  blackness  away ;  if  it  wuzn't  that  we  knew  forgiveness 
wuz  held  out  free  as  long  as  breath  held  body  an'  soul  to 
gether.  Every  day  Satan  dangles  some  new  temptation  before 


92  DIALECT  TALES. 

us,  an'  we  fall  inter  sin.  Most  especial  to-day  hev  we  failed 
in  charity  toward  our  sister  here,  condemnin'  her  without  a 
hearin',  an'  never  a-dreamin'  that  it  wuz  the  Lord's  work  to 
which  she  give  his  day,  as  sinless  as  the  act  of  Him  who 
plucked  the  ears  of  corn  an'  wuz  reproached  by  the  lip-servin' 
Jews.  Put  it  inter  her  heart,  O  Father,  to  pardon  us  without 
much  more  said  about  it.  All  for  the  dear  sake  of  him  who 
died  for  us.  Amen." 

Then  we  said  the  Lord's  Prayer  all  together,  an'  somehow 
a  good,  healthy  shame  laid  hold  of  us  an'  made  us  humble  in 
our  own  conceit  for  once. 

We  didn't  exactly  like  to  look  Sister  Biscoe  in  the  eye 
when  we  got  up.  We  didn't  know  but  what  she'd  hold  out 
till  we  had  made  apologies  all  'round ;  an'  how  to  do  it  wuz 
more  than  we  knew. 

But,  dear  sakes !  Sister  Wysnicker  —  she's  such  a  comfort 
able  woman — she  says,  quite  natural,  "  W^on't  you  take  off  your 
things,  Sister  Biscoe,  an'  help  us  out  with  this  wool  ?  It's  a 
powerful  sight  worse  'n  I  looked  for  it  to  be." 

"  To    be   sure,"  says   Sister   Biscoe,  a   little  hystericky,  but  . 
very  cheerful;  "ain't  that  what  I'm  here  for?" 

So,  pretty  soon  we  wuz  workin'  like  bees,  an'  chattin'  by 
spells,  as  neighbors  should,  about  the  harvesting  an'  the  hard 
work,  an'  the  aguey,  an'  the  Republican  rally,  an'  the  thrivirf 
business  of  them  wicked  saloons  when  politics  wuz  flyin'  all 
abroad,  an'  other  subjects  harmonious  to  the  company. 

Jenny  she  stood  by  her  mother  and  helped ;  but  as  for  Miss 
Leila,  she  tossed  her  head  and  walked  off  home,  as  unforgivin' 
a  young  one  as  ever  listened  to  prayer  with  a  stony  heart. 


AUNT  ANNIKY' S    TEETH. 


A  UNT  ANNIKY' S  TEETH. 

A  UNT  ANNIKY  was  an  African  dame,  fifty  years  old,  and 
of  an  imposing  presence.  As  a  waffle-maker  she  pos 
sessed  a  gift  beyond  the  common,  but  her  unapproachable 
talent  lay  in  the  province  of  nursing.  She  seemed  born  for 
the  benefit  of  sick  people.  She  should  have  been  painted 
with  the  apple  of  healing  in  her  hand.  For  the  rest,  she  was 
a  funny,  illiterate  old  darkey,  vain,  affable,  and  neat  as  a  pink. 

On  one  occasion  my  mother  had  a  dangerous  illness. 
Aunt  Anniky  nursed  her  through  it,  giving  herself  no  rest 
night  nor  day  until  her  patient  had  come  "back  to  de  walks 
an'  ways  ob  life,"  as  she  expressed  the  dear  mother's  recovery. 
My  father,  overjoyed  and  grateful,  felt  that  we  owed  this  result 
quite  as  much  to  Aunt  Anniky  as  to  our  family  doctor,  so  he 
announced  his  intention  of  making  her  a  handsome  present, 
and,  like  King  Herod,  left  her  free  to  choose  what  it  should 
be.  I  shall  never  forget  how  Aunt  Anniky  looked  as  she 
stood  there  smiling  and  bowing,  and  bobbing  the  funniest 
little  courtesies  all  the  way  down  to  the  ground. 

And  you  would  never  guess  what  it  was  the  old  woman 
asked  for. 

"  Well,  Mars'  Charles,"  said  she  (she  had  been  one  of  our 
old  servants,  and  always  called  my  father  Mars'  Charles),  "  to 


94  DIALECT   TALES. 

tell  you  de  livin'  trufe,  my  soul  an'  body  is  a-yearnin'  fur  a 
han'sum  chany  set  o'  teef." 

"  A  set  of  teeth !"  cried  father,  surprised  enough.  "  And 
have  you  none  left  of  your  own  ?" 

"I  has  gummed  it  fur  a  good  many  ye'rs,"  said  Aunt  An 
niky,  with  a  sigh;  "but  not  wishin'  ter  be  ongrateful  ter  my 


"MY    SOUL   AN*  BODY    IS    A-YEARNIN*  FUR    A    HAN*SUM    CHANY    SET    O'  TEEF." 

obligations,  I  owns  ter  havin'  five  nateral  teef.  But  dey  is  po' 
sogers :  dey  shirks  battle.  One  ob  dem's  got  a  little  somethin' 
in  it  as  lively  as  a  speared  worm,  an'  I  tell  you  when  anything 
teches  it,  hot  or  cold,  it  jest  makes  me  dance!  An'  anudder 
is  in  my  top  jaw,  an'  ain't  got  no  match  fur  it  in  de  bottom 
one ;  an'  one  is  broke  off  nearly  to  de  root ;  an'  de  las'  two  is 


AUNT  ANNIKY 'S    TEETH.  95 

so  yaller  dat  I's  ashamed  ter  show  'em  in  company,  an'  so  I  lifs 
my  turkey  tail  ter  my  mouf  every  time  I  laughs  or  speaks." 

Father  turned  to  mother  with  a  musing  air.  "  The  curious 
student  of  humanity,"  he  remarked,  "  traces  resemblances  where 
they  are  not  obviously  conspicuous.  Now,  at  the  first  blush 
one  would  not  think  of  any  common  ground  of  meeting  for 
our  Aunt  Anniky  and  the  Empress  Josephine.  Yet  that  fine 
French  lady  introduced  the  fashion  of  handkerchiefs  by  con 
tinually  raising  delicate  lace  mouchoirs  to  her  lips  to  hide  her 
bad  teeth.  Aunt  Anniky  lifts  her  turkey  tail !  It  really  seems 
that  human  beings  should  be  classed  by  strata,  as  if  they  were 
metals  in  the  earth.  Instead  of  dividing  by  nations,  let  us 
class  by  qualities.  So  we  might  find  Turk,  Jew,  Christian, 
fashionable  lady  and  washer-woman,  master  and  slave,  hanging 
together,  like  cats  on  a  clothes-line,  by  some  connecting  cord 
of  affinity—" 

"In  the  mean  time,"  said  my  mother,  mildly,  "Aunt  Anniky 
is  waiting  to  know  if  she  is  to  have  her  teeth." 

"  Oh,  surely,  surely !"  cried  father,  coming  out  of  the  clouds, 
with  a  start.  "  I  am  going  to  the  village  to-morrow,  Anniky, 
in  the  spring  wagon.  I  will  take  you  with  me,  and  we  will  see 
what  the  dentist  can  do  for  you." 

"  Bless  yo'  heart,  Mars'  Charles !"  said  the  delighted  An 
niky;  "you're  jest  as  good  as  yo'  blood  an'  yo'  name,  an'  mo' 
I  couldrit  say." 

The  morrow  came,  and  with  it  Aunt  Anniky,  gorgeously 
arrayed  in  a  flaming  red  calico,  a  bandanna  handkerchief,  and 
a  string  of  carved  yellow  beads  that  glistened  on  her  bosom 
like  fresh  buttercups  on  a  hill-slope. 

7 


96  DIALECT   TALES. 

I  had  petitioned  to  go  with  the  party,  for,  as  we  lived  on 
a  plantation,  a  visit  to  the  village  was  something  of  an  event. 

A  brisk  drive  soon  brought  us  to  the  centre  of  "  the 
Square."  A  glittering  sign  hung  brazenly  from  a  high  win 
dow  on  its  western  side,  bearing,  in  raised  black  letters,  the 
name  Doctor  Alonzo  Babb. 

Dr.  Babb  was  the  dentist  and  the  odd  fish  of  our  village. 
He  beams  in  my  memory  as  a  big,  round  man,  with  hair  and 
smiles  all  over  his  face,  who  talked  incessantly,  and  said  things 
to  make  your  blood  run  cold. 

"  Do  you  see  this  ring  ?"  he  said,  as  he  bustled  about,  pol 
ishing  his  instruments,  and  making  his  preparations  for  the 
sacrifice  of  Aunt  Anniky.  He  held  up  his  right  hand,  on  the 
forefinger  of  which  glistened  a  ring  the  size  of  a  dog-collar. 
"  Now,  what  d'ye  s'pose  that's  made  of  ?" 

"  Brass,"  suggested  father,  who  was  funny  when  not  philo 
sophical. 

"  Brass  /"  cried  Dr.  Babb,  with  a  withering  look :  "  it's  vir 
gin  gold,  that  ring  is.  And  where  d'ye  s'pose  I  found  the 
gold?" 

My  father  ran  his  hands  into  his  pockets  in  a  retrospective 
sort  of  way. 

"  In  the  mouths  of  my  patients,  every  grain  of  it,"  said  the 
dentist,  with  a  perfectly  diabolical  smack  of  the  lips :  "  old 
fillings — plugs,  you  know — that  I  saved,  and  had  made  up  into 
this  shape.  Good  deal  of  sentiment  about  such  a  ring  as  this." 

u  Sentiment  of  a  mixed  nature,  I  should  say,"  murmured 
my  father,  with  a  grimace. 

"Mixed?  —  rather!     A   speck   here,  a  speck   there.     Some- 


AUNT  ANNIKY'S    TEETH.  97 

times  an  eye,  oftener  a  jaw,  occasionally  a  front.  More  than  a 
hundred  men,  I  s'pose,  have  helped  in  the  cause." 

"  Law,  doctor !  you  beats  de  birds,  you  does,"  cried  Aunt 
Anniky,  whose  head  was  as  flat  as  the  floor  where  her  rever 
ence  bump  should  have  been ;  "  you  know  how  dey  snatches 
de  wool  from  every  bush  to  make  deir  nests." 

"  Lots  of  company  for  me  that  ring  is,"  said  the  doctor, 
ignoring  the  pertinent,  or  impertinent,  interruption.  "  Often, 
as  I  sit  in  the  twilight,  I  twirl  it  around  and  around,  a-think- 
ing  of  the  wagon- loads  of  food  it  has  masticated,  the  blood 
that  has  flowed  over  it,  the  groans  that  it  has  cost —  Now, 
old  lady,  if  you  will  sit  just  here — " 

He  motioned  Aunt  Anniky  to  the  chair,  into  which  she 
dropped  in  a  limp  sort  of  way,  recovering  herself  immediately, 
however,  and  sitting  bolt-upright  in  a  rigid  attitude  of  defi 
ance.  Some  moments  of  persuasion  were  necessary  before  she 
could  be  induced  to  lean  back  and  allow  Dr.  Babb's  fingers 
on  her  nose  while  she  breathed  the  laughing-gas;  but  once 
settled,  the  expression  faded  from  her  countenance  almost  as 
quickly  as  a  magic -lantern  picture  vanishes.  I  watched  her 
nervously,  my  attention  divided  between  her  vacant- looking 
face  and  a  dreadful  picture  on  the  wall.  It  represented  Dr. 
Babb  himself  minus  the  hair,  but  with  double  the  number  of 
smiles,  standing  by  a  patient  from  whose  mouth  he  had  ap 
parently  just  extracted  a  huge  molar  that  he  held  triumphantly 
in  his  forceps.  A  gray-haired  old  gentleman  regarded  the  pair 
with  benevolent  interest.  The  photograph  was  entitled,  u  His 
First  Tooth." 

"Attracted  by  that  picture?"  said  Dr.  Alonzo,  affably,  his 


98  DIALECT   TALES. 

fingers  on  Aunt  Anniky's  pulse.  "  My  par  had  that  struck  off 
the  first  time  I  ever  got  a  tooth  out.  That's  par  with  the  gray 
hair  and  the  benediction  attitude.  Tell  you,  he  was  proud  of 
me !  I  had  such  an  awful  tussle  with  that  tooth  !  Thought 
the  old  fellow's  jaw  was  bound  to  break !  But  I  got  it  out, 
and  after  that  my  par  took  me  with  him  'round  the  country — 
starring  the  provinces,  you  know — and  I  practised  on  the  na 
tives." 

By  this  time  Aunt  Anniky  was  well  under  the  influence 
of  the  gas,  and  in  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time  her  five 
teeth  were  out.  As  she  came  to  herself,  I  am  sorry  to  say, 
she  was  rather  silly,  and  quite  mortified  me  by  winking  at  Dr. 
Babb  in  the  most  confidential  manner,  and  repeating  over  and 
over  again,  "  Honey,  yer  ain't  harf  as  smart  as  yer  thinks  yer 
is!" 

After  a  few  weeks  of  sore  gums  Aunt  Anniky  appeared 
radiant  with  her  new  teeth.  The  effect  was  certainly  funny. 
In  the  first  place,  blackness  itself  was  not  so  black  as  Aunt 
Anniky.  She  looked  as  if  she  had  been  clipped  in  ink  and 
polished  off  with  lamp-black.  Her  very  eyes  showed  but  the 
faintest  rim  of  white.  But  those  teeth  were,  white  enough  to 
make  up  for  everything.  She  had  selected  them  herself,  and 
the  little,  ridiculous,  milk-white  things  were  more  fitted  for  the 
mouth  of  a  Titania  than  for  the  great  cavern  in  which  Aunt 
Anniky's  tongue  moved  and  had  its  being.  The  gums  above 
them  were  black,  and  when  she  spread  her  wide  mouth  in  a 
laugh  it  always  reminded  me  of  a  piano-lid  opening  suddenly 
and  showing  all  the  black  and  white  ivories  at  a  glance.  Aunt 
Anniky  laughed  a  good  deal,  too,  after  getting  her  teeth  in, 


AUNT  ANNIKY'S    TEETH. 


99 


"  HONEY,  YER    AIN'T    HARF    AS    SMART   AS    YER   THINKS    YER    IS  !" 

and  declared  she  had  never  been  so  happy  in  her  life.  It  was 
observed,  to  her  credit,  that  she  put  on  no  airs  of  pride,  but 
was  as  sociable  as  ever,  and  made  nothing  of  taking  out  her 
teeth  and  handing  them  around  for  inspection  among  her 
curious  and  admiring  visitors.  On  that  principle  of  human 
nature  which  glories  in  attracting  attention  to  the  weakest 
part,  she  delighted  in  tough  meats,  stale  bread,  green  fruits, 
and  all  other  eatables  that  test  the  biting  quality  of  the  teeth. 
But  finally  destruction  came  upon  them  in  a  way  that  no  one 
could  have  foreseen. 


100  DIALECT   TALES. 

Uncle  Ned  was  an  old  colored  man,  who  lived  alone  in  a 
cabin  not  very  far  from  Aunt  Anniky's,  but  very  different  from 
hers  in  point  of  cleanliness  and  order.  In  fact,  Uncle  Ned's 
wealth,  apart  from  a  little  corn  crop,  consisted  in  a  lot  of  fine 
young  pigs  that  ran  in  and  out  of  the  house  at  all  times,  and 
were  treated  by  their  owner  as  tenderly  as  if  they  had  been  his 
children.  One  fine  day  the  old  man  fell  sick  of  a  fever,  and  he 
sent  in  haste  for  Aunt  Anniky  to  come  and  nurse  him.  He 
agreed  to  give  her  a  pig  in  case  she  brought  him  through ; 
should  she  fail  to  do  so,  she  was  to  receive  no  pay.  Well, 
Uncle  Ned  got  well,  and  the  next  thing  we  heard  was  that 
he  refused  to  pay  the  pig.  My  father  was  usually  called  on 
to  settle  all  the  disputes  in  the  neighborhood ;  so  one  morn 
ing  Anniky  and  Ned  appeared  before  him,  both  looking  very 
indignant. 

"  I'd  jes  like  ter  tell  yer,  Mars'  Charles,"  began  Uncle  Ned, 
"  ov  de  trick  dis  miser'ble  ole  nigger  played  on  me." 

"  Go  on,  Ned,"  said  my  father,  with  a  resigned  air. 

"Well,  it  war  de  fift'  night  o'  de  fever,"  said  Uncle  Ned, 
"  an'  I  wuz  a-tossin'  an'  a-moanin',  an'  ole  Anniky  jes  lay  back 
in  her  cheer  an'  snored  as  ef  a  dozen  frogs  wuz  in  her  throat. 
I  wuz  a-perishin'  an'  a-burnin'  wid  thirst  —  an'  I  hollered  to 
Anniky ;  but  lor !  I  might  as  well  'a  hollered  to  a  tombstone ! 
It  wuz  ice  I  wanted ;  an'  I  knowed  dar  wuz  a  glass  somewhar 
on  my  table  wid  cracked  ice  in  it.  Lor!  lor!  how  dry  I  wuz! 
I  neber  longed  fur  whiskey  in  my  born  days  ez  I  panted  fur 
dat  ice.  It  wuz  powerful  dark,  fur  de  grease  wuz  low  in  de 
lamp,  an'  de  wick  spluttered  wid  a  dyin'  flame.  But  I  felt 
aroun',  feeble  like  an'  slow,  till  my  fingers  touched  a  glass.  I 


AUNT  ANNIKY'S    TEETH. 


101 


pulled  it  to  me,  an'  I  run  my  han'  in  an'  grabbed  de  ice,  as  I 
s'posed,  an'  flung  it  in  my  mouf,  an'  crunched  an'  crunched— 

Here  there  was  an  awful  pause.  Uncle  Ned  pointed  his 
thumb  at  Anniky,  looked  wildly  at  my  father,  and  said,  in  a 
hollow  voice:  "//  wuz  Anniky s  teef" 

My  father  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  as  I  had  never 
heard  him  laugh.  Mother  from  her  sofa  joined  in.  I  was 
doubled  up  like  a  jackknife  in  the  corner.  But  as  for  the 


IT  wuz  ANNIKY'S  TEEF." 


102  DIALECT    TALES. 

principals  in  the  affair,  neither  of  their  faces  moved  a  muscle. 
They  saw  no  joke.  Aunt  Anniky,  in  a  dreadful,  muffled, 
squashy  sort  of  voice,  took  up  the  tale : 

"  Nexsh  ting  I  knowed,  Marsh  Shades,  somebody's  sheizin' 
me  by  de  head,  a-jammin'  it  up  'gin  de  wall,  a-jawin'  at  me  like 
de  angel  Gabriel  at  de  rish  ole  sinners  in  de  bad  plashe — an' 
dar  wash  ole  Ned  a-spittin'  like  a  black  cat,  an'  a-howlin'  so 
dreadful  dat  I  tought  he  wash  de  debil ;  an'  when  I  got  de 
light,  dar  wash  my  beautiful  chany  teef  a -flung  aroun'  like 
scattered  seed-corn  on  de  flo',  an'  Ned  a-swarin'  he'd  have  de 
law  o'  me." 

"An'arter  all  dat,"  broke  in  Uncle  Ned,  "  she  purtends  to 
lay  a  claim  fur  my  pig.  But  I  says  no,  sir;  I  don't  pay  nobody 
nothin'  who's  played  me  a  trick  like  dat." 

"  Trick  !"  said  Aunt  Anniky,  scornfully  ;  "  whar's  de  trick  ? 
Tink  I  wanted  yer  ter  eat  my  teef?  An'  furdermo',  Marsh 
Shades,  dar's  jes  dis  about  it.  When  dat  night  set  in  dar 
warn't  no  mo'  hope  fur  ole  Ned  dan  fur  a  foundered  sheep. 
Laws-a-mussy !  dat's  why  I  went  ter  sleep.  I  wanted  ter  hev 
strengt'  ter  put  on  his  burial  clo'es  in  de  mornin'.  But  don' 
yer  see,  Marsh  Shades,  dat  when  he  got  so  mad  it  brought 
on  a  sweat  dat  broke  de  fever  !  It  saved  him!  But  fur  all  dat, 
arter  munchin'  an'  manglin'  my  chany  teef,  he  has  de  imper- 
dence  of  tryin'  to  'ppive  me  of  de  pig  dat  I  honestly  'arned." 

It  was  a  hard  case.  Uncle  Ned  sat  there  a  very  image  of 
injured  dignity,  while  Aunt  Anniky  bound  a  red  handker 
chief  around  her  mouth  and  fanned  herself  with  her  turkey 
tail. 

"  I  am  sure   I  don't  know  how  to  settle   the   matter,"  said 


AUNT  ANNIKY1  S    TEETH.  103 

father,  helplessly.  "Ned,  I  don't  see  but  that  you'll  have  to 
pay  up." 

"  Neber,  Mars'  Charles— neber  !" 

"  Well,  suppose  you  get  married  ?"  suggested  father,  brilliant 
ly.  "  That  will  unite  your  interests,  you  know." 

Aunt  Anniky  tossed  her  head.  Uncle  Ned  was  old,  wiz 
ened,  wrinkled  as  a  raisin,  but  he  eyed  Anniky  over  with  a 
supercilious  gaze,  and  said,  with  dignity,  "  Ef  I  wanted  ter 
marry,  I  could  git  a  likely  young  gal." 

All  the  four  points  of  Anniky's  turban  shook  with  indig 
nation.  "  Pay  me  fur  dem  chany  teef !"  she  hissed. 

Some  visitors  interrupted  the  dispute  at  this  time,  and  the 
two  old  darkies  went  away. 

A  week  later  Uncle  Ned  appeared,  with  rather  a  sheepish 
look. 

"Well,  Mars'  Charles,"  he  said,  "  I's  'bout  concluded  dat  I'll 
marry  Anniky." 

"  Ah  !  is  that  so  ?" 

"'Pears  like  it's  de  onliest  way  I  kin  save  my  pigs,"  said 
Uncle  Ned,  with  a  sigh.  "When  she's  married  she's  boun'  ter 
"bey  me.  Women,  'bey  your  husban's ;  dat's  what  de  good  Book 
says." 

"Yes,  she  will  bay  you,  I  don't  doubt,"  said  my  father, 
making  a  pun  that  Uncle  Ned  could  not  appreciate. 

"An'  ef  ever  she  opens  her  jaw  ter  me  'bout  dem  ar  teef," 
he  went  on,  "I'll  mash  her." 

Uncle  Ned  tottered  on  his  legs  like  an  unscrewed  fruit 
stand,  and  I  had  my  own  opinion  as  to  his  "  mashing "  Aunt 
Anniky.  This  opinion  was  confirmed  the  next  day  when  my 


104  DIALECT   TALES. 

father  offered  her  his  congratulations.  "You  are  old  enough 
to  know  your  own  mind,"  he  remarked. 

"I's  ole,  maybe,"  said  Anniky,  "  but  so  is  a  oak-tree,  an'  it's 
wigorous,  I  reckon.  I's  a  purty  wigorous  sort  o'  growth  my 
self,  an'  I  reckon  I'll  have  my  own  way  wid  Ned.  I'm  gwine 
ter  fatten  dem  pigs  o'  his'n,  an'  you  see  ef  I  don't  sell  'em  nex' 
Christmas  fur  money  'nouf  ter  git  a  new  string  o'  chany  teef." 

"Look  here,  Anniky,"  said  father,  with  a  burst  of  generos 
ity,  "  you  and  Ned  will  quarrel  about  those  teeth  till  the  day 
of  doom  ;  so  I  will  make  you  a  wedding  present  of  another  set, 
that  you  may  begin  married  life  in  harmony." 

Aunt  Anniky  expressed  her  gratitude.  "An'  dis  time,"  she 
said,  with  sudden  fury,  "I  sleeps  wid  'em  in? 

The  teeth  were  presented,  and  the  wedding  preparations 
began.  The  expectant  bride  went  over  to  Ned's  cabin  and 
gave  it  such  a  clearing  up  as  it  had  never  had.  But  Ned  did 
not  seem  happy.  He  devoted  himself  entirely  to  his  pigs,  and 
wandered  about,  looking  more  wizened  every  day.  Finally  he 
came  to  our  gate  and  beckoned  to  me  mysteriously. 

"  Come  over  to  my  house,  honey,"  he  whispered,  "  an'  bring 
a  pen  an'  ink  an'  a  piece  o'  paper  wid  yer.  I  wants  you  ter 
write  me  a  letter." 

I  ran  into  the  house  for  my  little  writing-desk,  and  followed 
Uncle  Ned  to  his  cabin. 

"  Now,  honey,"  he  said,  after  barring  the  door  carefully, 
kk  don't  you  ax  me  no  questions,  but  jes  put  down  de  words 
dat  comes  out  o'  my  mouf  on  dat  ar  paper." 

"Very  well,  Uncle  Ned;  go  on." 

"Anniky  Hobbleston,"  he  began,  "dat  weddin'  ain't  a-gwine 


AUNT  ANNIKY'S   TEETH.  105 

ter  come  off.  You  cleans  up  too  much  ter  suit  me.  I  ain't 
used  ter  so  much  water  splashin'  aroun'.  Dirt  is  warmin'. 
Spec'  I'd  freeze  dis  winter  if  you  wuz  here.  An'  you  got  too 
much  tongue.  Besides,  I's  got  anudder  wife  over  in  Tipper. 
An'  I  ain't  a-gwine  ter  marry.  As  fur  havin'  de  law,  I's  a-leavin' 
dese  parts,  an'  I  takes  de  pigs  wid  me.  Yer  can't  fin'  dem,  an' 
yer  can't  fin'  me.  Fur  I  aint  a-gwine  ter  marry.  I  wuz  born 
a  bachelor,  an'  a  bachelor  will  I  represent  myself  befo'  de  judg 
ment-seat.  If  you  gives  yer  promise  ter  say  no  mo'  'bout  dis 
marryin'  business,  p'raps  I'll  come  back  some  day.  So  no  mo' 
at  present  from  your  humble  worshipper, — NED  CUDDY." 

"Isn't  that  last  part  rather  inconsistent?"  said  I,  greatly 
amused. 

"Yes,  honey,  if  yer  says  so;  an'  it's  kind  o'  soothin'  to  de 
feelin's  of  a  woman,  yer  know." 

I  wrote  it  all  down,  and  read  it  aloud  to  Uncle  Ned. 

"Now,  my  chile,"  he  said,  "I'm  a-gwine  ter  git  on  my  mule 
soon  as  de  moon  rises,  an'  drive  my  pigs  ter  Col'water  Gap, 
whar  I'll  stay  an'  fish.  Soon  as  I'm  well  gone  you  take  dis 
letter  ter  Anniky,  but  mm  don't  tell  whar  I's  gone.  An'  if 
she  takes  it  all  right,  an'  promises  ter  let  me  alone,  you  write 
me  a  letter,  an'  I'll  git  de  fust  Methodis'  preacher  I  run  across 
in  de  woods  ter  read  it  ter  me.  Den,  ef  it's  all  right,  I'll  come 
back  an'  weed  yer  flower-gyardin  fur  yer  as  purty  as  preachin'." 

I  agreed  to  clo  all  Uncle  Ned  asked,  and  we  parted  like 
conspirators.  The  next  morning  Uncle  Ned  was  missing,  and 
after  waiting  a  reasonable  time  I  explained  the  matter  to  my 
parents,  and  went  over  with  his  letter  to  Aunt  Anniky. 

"Powers  above!"  was  her  only  comment  as  I  got  through 


106 


DIALECT   TALES. 


the  remarkable  epistle.  Then,  after  a  pause  to  collect  her 
thoughts,  she  seized  me  by  the  shoulder,  saying :  "Run  to  yo1 
pappy,  honey,  quick,  an'  ax  him  if  he's  gwine  ter  stick  ter  his 
bargain  'bout  de  teef.  You  know  he  p'intedly  said  dey  wuz  a 
weddin  gif." 

Of  course  my  father  sent  word  that  she  must  keep  the 
teeth,  and  my  mother  added  a  message  of  sympathy,  with  a 
present  of  a  pocket-handkerchief  to  dry  Aunt  Anniky's  tears. 

But  "It's  all  right,"  said  that  sensible  old  soul,  opening  her 
piano-lid  with  a  cheerful  laugh.  "Bless  you,  chile,  it  wuz  de 
teef  I  wanted,  not  de  man  !  An',  honey,  you  jes  sen'  word  to 
dat  shifless  ole  nigger,  ef  you  know  whar  he's  gone,  to  come 
back  home  an'  git  his  crap  in  de  groun' ;  an',  as  fur  as  Pm 
consarned,  you  jes  let  him  know  dat  I  wouldn't  pick  him  up 
wid  a  ten-foot  pole,  not  ef  he  wuz  ter  beg  me  on  his  knees  till 
de  millennial  day." 


BLESS   YOU,   CHILE,   IT   WUZ    DE   TEEF   I   WANTED,   NOT   DE   MAN 


DR.    JEX'S  PREDICAMENT.  107 


DR.  JEX'S  PREDICAMENT. 

TT  was  the  funniest  thing  that  I  ever  saw  in  my  life.     Cruik- 
shank  would   have  gloried   in  it.     I  wish   I  had   him  here 
to   illustrate   that  scene   with  the  spirited  vigor  that  only  his 
dancing  pencil  gives. 

It  was  in  Kentucky  that  it  happened  —  that  pleasant  land 
of  blue -grass,  and  tobacco,  and  fine  stock,  and  white -teethed 
girls.  Mabel,  my  sister,  had  married  Dick  Hucklestone,  and 
they  had  begun  life  in  great  contentment  and  a  little  three- 
roomed  house  scarcely  big  enough  to  hold  the  bridal  presents. 
But  they  were  happy,  hearty,  healthy.  They  had  two  cows, 
ice-cream  every  day,  a  charming  baby,  and  Uncle  Brimmer. 
Who  shall  say  that  their  cup  was  not  full?  Indeed,  they 
thought  it  full  before  Uncle  Brimmer  added  himself  thereto 

—a  very  ponderous  rose-leaf.  He  was  one  of  our  old  family 
servants,  who  fondly  believed  that  Miss  Mabel  and  her  young 
husband  would  never  be  able  to  get  on  without  him.  He 
walked  all  the  way  from  Mississippi  to  Kentucky,  with  his 
things  tied  up  in  a  meal  sack,  and  presented  himself  before 
Mabel,  announcing  affably  that  he  had  come  to  "  stay  on." 

"  But  I  haven't  any  place  for  you,  Uncle  Brimmer,"  said 
Mabel,  divided  between  hospitality  and  embarrassment. 

"  Lor',  honey,  you  kin  jes  tuck  me  aroun'  anywhar.  I  don't 
take  up  no  room." 


108  DIALECT   TALES, 

Mabel  looked  thoughtfully  upon  the  big,  brown,  gray-whis 
kered  old  negro,  whose  proportions  were  those  of  a  Hercules,  and 
shook  her  head.  "  You  are  not  a  Tom  Thumb,  Uncle  Brimmer/' 

"  No,  ma'am,"  said  he,  submissively,  "  but  I've  got  his  sperit. 
Couldn't  I  sleep  in  de  kitchen,  honey  ?"  he  went  on,  with  insin 
uating  sweetness. 

"  No,  indeed!"  cried  our  young  house- keeper.  "I  put  my 
foot  down  on  anybody  sleeping  in  the  kitchen." 

Aunt  Patsey,  the  cook,  stood  by,  balancing  a  pan  of  flour 
on  her  head,  one  fat  hand  on  her  hip.  I  suspected  her  of  a 
personal  interest  in  the  matter,  and  indeed  she  afterward  ac 
knowledged  that  she  thought  Uncle  Brimmer's  coming  would 
prove  a  "  blessin'  to  her  feet."  Those  feet  of  hers  had  been 
saved  many  steps  through  the  service  of  her  ten -year -old 
daughter,  Nancy  Palmira  Kate  —  called  Nanky  Pal  for  short. 
But  of  late  Nanky's  services  had  been  called  into  requisition 
as  a  nurse,  and  Aunt  Patsey,  who  was  fat  and  scant  o'  breath, 
thought  she  had  too  much  to  do ;  and  so  she  viewed  with 
evident  delight  the  stalwart  proportions  of  our  good-natured 
giant  from  the  South. 

"  Bar's  de  lof,  Miss  Mabel,"  she  suggested. 

"  It  is  too  small,  and  is  cluttered  up  wTith  things  already." 

"  Oh,  sho,  chile,  dar  ain't  nothin'  in  dat  lof  'cep'  de  'taters, 
an'  de  peppers,  an'  de  dried  apples,  an'  some  strings  o'  ter- 
backer,  an'  de  broken  plough,  an'  some  odds  an'  ends  o'  de 
chillen's,  an  Lucy  Crittenden's  pups.  Lor',  dar  ain't  nothin' 
ter  speak  of  in  de  lof." 

"He  can't  get  in  at  the  window,"  said  Mabel,  shifting  her 
ground. 


"COULDN'T  i  SLEEP  IN  DE  KITCHEN?' 


DR.   JEX'S  PREDICAMENT.  Ill 

"  Lemme  try,"  said  Uncle  Brimmer. 

The  kitchen  was  a  small  log- cabin,  some  distance  from 
the  house  —  "in  good  hollerin'  reach,"  to  quote  Aunt  Patsey. 
Above  it  was  a  low  room,  or  loft,  crowded  with  the  miscella 
neous  articles  enumerated.  The  only  way  of  getting 'into  it 
was  from  the  outside.  A  ladder  against  the  side  of  the  cabin 
admitted  one,  through  a  little  window,  no  larger,  I  am  sure, 
than  that  of  a  railway  coach,  into  this  storehouse  of  treasures. 
Nanky  Pal,  who  was  as  slim  as  a  snake,  was  usually  selected 
to  fetch  and  carry  through  the  small  aperture.  But  Uncle 
Brimmer ! 

"  I'm  pretty  sho'  I  kin  do  it,"  he  said,  squinting  up  one  eye, 
as  he  took  off  his  coat  and  prepared  to  try. 

We  stood  in  the  door-way  as  he  cautiously  went  up  the  lad 
der;  and  after  an  exciting  moment  he  pushed  himself  through 
the  window,  and,  turning,  smiled  triumphantly. 

This  settled  the  matter.  A  cot  bed  was  procured  for  Un 
cle  Brimmer,  and  he  soon  became  the  main-stay  of  the  family. 
Cheerfully  avoiding  all  the  work  possible ;  indifferently  as  an 
ostrich  eating  all  he  could  find  in  cupboards  or  highways ; 
grimly  playing  hobgoblin  for  baby;  gayly  twanging  his  banjo 
on  moonlight  nights — memory  recalls  thee,  with  a  smile,  Uncle 
Brimmer !  I  can  close  my  eyes  now  and  recall  him,  big,  shape 
less,  indistinct  in  the  semi-darkness,  as  he  sat  under  the  mul 
berry-tree,  singing: 

"Wish  I  wuz  in  Tennessee, 

A-settin'  in  my  cheer, 
Jug  o'  whiskey  by  my  side, 
An'  arms  aroun'  my  dear!" 

8 


112  DIALECT    TALES. 

This  was  his  favorite.  Who  shall  doubt  that  it  expressed  to 
him  all  the  poetry,  romance,  passion,  of  life  ? 

After  a  time  Uncle  Brimmer  fell  ill,  and  we  sent  for  a 
doctor. 

Dr.' Trattles  Jex  was  the  medical  man  of  our  county.  He 
lived  in  Middleburn,  seven  miles  away,  and  he  came  trotting 
over  on  a  great  bay  horse,  with  a  pair  of  saddle-bags  hanging 


DR.  JEX. 

like  Gilpin's  bottles,  one  on  either  side.  He  looked  as  dimin 
utive  as  a  monkey  perched  on  the  tall  horse's  back,  and  indeed 
he  was  "  a  wee  bit  pawky  body,"  as  was  said  of  Tommy 
Moore.  But,  bless  me !  he  was  as  pompous  and  self-important 
as  though  he  had  found  the  place  to  stand  on,  and  could  move 
the  world  with  his  little  lever.  A  red  handkerchief  carefully 
pinned  across  his  chest  showed  that  he  had  lungs  and  a 
mother.  His  boots  were  polished  to  the  last  degree.  His 
pink  and  beardless  face  betrayed  his  youth;  and  his  voice — 


DR.   JEX'S  PREDICAMENT.  113 

ah,  his  voice!  —  what  a  treasure  it  would  have  been  could  he 
have  let  it  out  to  masqueraders !  Whether  it  was  just  chang 
ing  from  that  of  youth  to  that  of  a  man,  or  whether,  like  read 
ing  and  writing,  it  "  came  by  nature,"  I  can't  tell.  One  instant 
it  was  deep  and  bass,  the  next,  squeaking  and  soprano.  No 
even  tenor  about  that  voice ! 

He  held  out  his  hand,  with,  "GOOD-MORNING,  Mrs. 
Hucklcstone.  I  hope  THE  BABY  HAS  NOT  HAD  an 
attack  r 

I  popped  into  the  dining-room  to  giggle,  but  little  well-bred 
Mabel  did  not  even  smile. 

"Oh  no!"  she  cried;  "it  is  Uncle  Brimmer." 

The  doctor  offered  to  see  him  at  once.  Mabel  got  up  to 
lead  the  way.  Up  to  this  moment  I  warrant  it  had  not  struck 
her  as  anything  out-of-the-wray  that  she  must  invite  Dr.  Jex  to 
climb  a  ladder  and  crawl  through  a  window  to  get  at  his 
patient.  But  as  she  looked  at  him,  speckless,  spotless,  gloved, 
scented,  curled,  then  at  the  ladder  leaning  against  the  wall  in 
a  disreputable,  rickety  sort  of  way,  a  sense  of  incongruity  seem 
ed  borne  in  on  her  soul.  To  add  to  her  distress  and  my  hilar 
ity,  we  saw  that  Uncle  Brimmer  had  hung  out  of  the  window 
some  mysterious  under -rigging  that  he  wore.  Long,  red,  and 
ragged,  it  "  flaunted  in  the  breeze "  as  picturesquely  as  the 
American  flag  on  a  Fourth  of  July. 

"  I  am  afraid,  doctor,  it  will  be  a  little  awkward,"  faltered 
Mabel;  "  Uncle  Brimmer  is  up  there;"  and  she  waved  her  lily 
hand. 

"An' you'll  have  ter  climb  de  ladder,"  put  in  Nanky  Pal, 
with  a  disrespectful  chuckle. 


DIALECT   TALES. 

I  thought  the  little  doctor  gasped ;  but  he  recovered  him 
self  gallantly,  and  said : 

"AS  A  BOY  I  HAVE  CLIMBED  trees,  and  THINK  I 
CAN  ASCEND  A  ladder  as  a  man;'  and  he  smiled  heroi 
cally. 

We  watched  him.  He  was  encumbered  by  the  saddle-bags, 
but  he  managed  very  well,  and  had  nearly  reached  the  top, 
when  suddenly  Uncle  Brimmer's  head  and  shoulders  pro 
truded,  giving  him  the  look  of  a  snail  half  out  of  its  shell. 

"  Here's  my  pulse,  doctor,"  he  cried,  blandly,  extending  his 
bared  arm.  "  'Tain't  no  place  for  you  up  here.  An'  here's 
my  tongue."  Then  out  went  his  tongue  for  Dr.  Jex's  inspec 
tion. 

The  doctor  settled  himself  on  a  rung  of  the  ladder,  quite 
willing  to  be  met  half-way.  Professional  inquiries  began,  when 

"A  deep  sound  struck  like  a  rising  knell." 

u  Good  gracious  !"  exclaimed  Mabel ;  "  what  is  that  ?" 
Nanky  Pal  sprung  up,  with  distended  eyes,  almost  letting 
the  baby  fall. 

Again, 

"  Nearer,  clearer,  deadlier  than  before." 

"Sakes  alive,  Miss  Mabel!"  cried  Nanky,  "ole  Mr.  Sim- 
mons's  bull's  done  broke  loose !" 

She  was  right.  A  moment  more,  and  in  rushed  the  splen 
did,  angry  beast,  bellowing,  pawing  the  ground,  shaking  his 
evil,  lowered  head  as  if  the  devil  were  contradicting  him. 

Dr.  Jex  turned  a  scared  face.  My  lord  Bull  caught  sight 
of  the  fluttering  red  rags,  and  charged  the  side  of  the  house. 


DR.   JEX'S  PREDICAMENT.  115 

And  I  give  you  my  word,  the  next  instant  the  ladder  was 
knocked  from  under  the  doctor's  feet,  and  he  was  clinging 
frantically  round  the  neck  of  .Uncle  Brimmer. 

Fearful  moment ! 

"  Pull  him  in,  Uncle  Brimmer — pull  him  in !"  shrieked 
Mabel,  dancing  about. 

"I  can't,  honey — I  can't,"  gasped  the  choking  giant;  "I'm 
stuck? 

"  Hold  me  UP  !"  cried  the  doctor.     "  SEND  FOR  help  /" 

Uncle  Brimmer  seized  him  by  the  arm -pits.  The  saddle 
bags  went  clattering  down,  and  about  the  head  of  Master  Bull 
a  cloud  of  quinine,  calomel,  Dover's  and  divers  other  powders 
and  pills,  broke  in  blinding  confusion. 

"Aunt  Patsey,  go  for  Mr.  Hucklestone  at  once!"  called 
Mabel. 

Aunt  Patsey  looked  cautiously  out  from  the  kitchen  door. 
"  Yer  don't  ketch  me  in  de  yard  wid  ole  Simmons's  bull,"  she 
said,  with  charming  independence. 

"Then  I  shall  send  Nanky  Pal." 

"  If  Nanky  Pal  goes  outen  dat  house  I'll  break  every  bone 
in  her  body." 

Then  Mabel  began  to  beg :  "  Aunt  Patsey,  let  her  go, 
please.  I'll  give  you  a  -whole  bagful  of  quilt  pieces,  and  my 
ruby  rep  polonaise  that  you  begged  me  for  yesterday." 

Aunt  Patsey's  head  came  out  a  little  farther.  "  An'  what 
else?" 

"And  a  ruffled  pillow-sham,"  said  Mabel,  almost  in  tears, 
"  and  some  white  sugar,  and  I'll  make  you  a  hat — and  that's 
all.  Now." 


116 


DIALECT   TALES. 


HOLD    ME!"    CRIED    THE    DOCTOR. 


"  I  reckon  dat's  about  as  much  as  de   chile  is   wuth,"  said 
the  philosophic  mother.     "  Let  her  go." 
"  Fly  !  fly  !"  cried  Mabel. 
"  I  ain't  skeered,"  said  Nanky.     "  I  ain't  dat  sort.     Mammy 


DR.   JEX'S  PREDICAMENT.  117 

ain't   nuther.     She    wuz   jes   waitin'  ter   see    how   much   you'd 


give. 


Nanky's  bare  legs  scudded  swiftly  across  the  yard.  The 
bull  took  no  notice  of  her.  He  was  still  stamping  and  bellow 
ing  under  that  window.  Uncle  Brimmer  and  the  doctor  clung 
together,  and  only  a  convulsive  kick  now  and  then  testified  to 
the  little  man's  agony. 

''Suppose  Uncle  Brimmer  should  let  go?"  I  suggested,  in 
a  hollow  whisper. 

"  Oh,  hush !"  cried  Mabel.  "  The  doctor's  blood  would  be 
on  our  heads." 

"  Or  the  bull's  horns." 

It  was  not  far  to  the  tobacco  field,  and  in  an  incredibly 
short  time  brother  John  came  riding  in,  followed  by  half  a 
dozen  stout  negroes.  With  some  delightful  play  that  gave 
one  quite  an  idea  of  a  Spanish  bull -fight,  his  lordship  was 
captured,  and  our  little  doctor  was  assisted  to  the  house. 

Gone    was  the  glory  of   Dr.  Trattles   Jex.     His   coat   was 
torn,  his   knees   grimy,  his   hands   scratched,  and   he    looked— 
yes — as  if  he  had  been  crying. 

"  Can  you  ever  forgive  us  ?"  said  Mabel,  piteously.  She 
hovered  about  him  like  a  little  mother.  She  made  him  drink 
two  glasses  of  wine ;  she  mended  his  coat ;  she  asked  him  if 
he  would  not  like  to  kiss  the  baby.  And  finally  a  \van  smile 
shone  in  the  countenance  of  Dr.  Jex.  For  me,  I  felt  my  face 
purpling,  and  leaving  him  to  Mabel,  I  fled  with  brother  John 
to  the  smoke-house,  where  we — roared. 

Uncle  Brimmer  got  well,  and  went  in  to  see  the  doctor. 
He  returned  with  a  new  cravat,  a  cane,  and  several  smart 


118 


DIALECT   TALES. 


articles  of  attire,  from  which  we  inferred  that,  in  those  trying 
moments  when  he  supported  the  suspended  doctor,  that  little 
gentleman  had  offered  many  inducements  for  him  to  hold  fast. 
When  questioned  he  responded  chiefly  with  a  cavernous  and 
mysterious  smile,  only  saying: 

"  Master  Dr.  Jex  is  a  gentleman  ;  starch  in  or  starch  out, 
he's  de  gentleman  straight." 

And  brother  John,  who  is  somewhat  acquainted  with  slang, 
said,  with  a  great  laugh,  "  Well;  old  man,  you  had  a  bully 
chance  to  judge,  so  you  must  be  right." 


REPAIRING   DAMAGES. 


IN  AUNT  MELY'S  CABIN.  H9 


IN  AUNT  MELY'S  CABIN. 

T^WELVE  o'clock  and  a  starless  night,  the  sky  bending  so 
close  to  earth  that  one  might  fancy  the  very  steam  of  the 
world's  passions  condensed  in  the  black  clouds  that  rolled 
heavily  across  it:  no  sound  save  the  ceaseless,  soft  plashing  of 
the  Mississippi  waves.  '  Suddenly  a  light  wind  rose :  a  piercing 
shaft  of  moonlight  struck  through  the  clouds,  falling  on  the 
black  letters  over  a  beer-shop,  and  idealizing  to  purple  and  fine 
linen  some  fluttering  rags  that  hung  from  a  dingy  tenement- 
house.  The  wind  grew  stronger;  the  clouds  were  blown  into 
wild  shapes ;  the  shaft  of  moonlight  melted  out  into  a  broad 
sheet  of  silver. 

A  steep  bluff  overhung  the  river;  sloping  away  from  it 
were  the  long,  curving  streets  of  a  Southern  city.  A  flight  of 
stone  steps  led  from  its  highest  point  to  a  flat  level,  where  new 
workshops,  ruins  of  burnt  houses,  and  long  cotton -sheds  were 
crowded  together.  It  was  a  damp,  dirty  place.  People  called 
it  "  Hell's  Half-Acre,"  and  in  the  day  it  justified  its  name.  But 
the  moon  denies  her  gift  of  beauty  to  naught,  and  to-night  this 
most  melancholy  half-acre  seemed  to  have  a  better  right  to  be. 
One  noticed  then  twenty-four  slim  white  pillars,  Corinthian  in 
design,  that  fire  had  left  standing  from  some  stately  public 
building.  The  moonbeams  broke  into  a  thousand  different 
shapes  in  the  little  inlets  where  the  river  had  pushed  its  way 


120  DIALECT    TALES. 

in.  The  shapeless  ruins  were  imposing  in  the  half-light,  and 
heavy -scented  flowers  grew  above  them,  mingling  their  odors 
with  the  sweet,  fresh  smell  of  new  timber  at  the  planing-mill. 
And  the  river  —  by  daylight  a  vulgar,  muddy  stream  —  now 
flowed  in  wide,  mysterious  grandeur,  with  distant  gleams  of 
silver  on  its  slow  waves. 

Across  the  river,  on  the  line  of  another  State,  was  a  little 
town,  so  white  and  simple  and  still  that  it  might  have  been 
the  home  of  moths  and  shadows.  But  as  the  moon's  light 
grew  clearer  a  keen  eye  might  have  seen  a  man's  form  stand 
ing  at  the  water's  edge,  and  a  keen  ear  might  have  heard  the 
sound  of  a  body  falling  into  water.  The  river  was  narrow 
at  this  point,  and  a  man  could  easily  swim  across  it,  as  this 
one  was  doing.  His  body  undulated  under  the  waves  like  a 
snake's.  His  head,  barely  visible  above  the  water,  was  small, 
and  the  wet  hair  clung  closely  about  it  like  a  cap.  When  he 
had  landed  he  stood  for  a  moment  shivering  with  cold  and 
casting  quick,  nervous  glances  around  him,  as  if  he  had  been 
pursued.  Then  he  walked  irresolutely  toward  a  cotton -shed, 
and  throwing  himself  on  the  ground,  partly  sheltered  by  a  bale 
of  cotton,  he  fell  asleep. 

The  sun  rose  gloomily,  and  in  its  light  the  place  that  had 
been  almost  poetic  the  night  before  showed  all  its  squalid 
ugliness.  The  street  near  the  river,  once  a  fine  and  fashion 
able  promenade,  now  seemed  built  of  the  very  skeletons  of 
houses,  so  busily  had  decay  been  at  work,  and  so  little  had 
been  done  to  stop  its  advance.  The  very  flowers  had  lost 
their  purity,  and  hung  heavy  with  little  particles  of  cotton  that 
had  blown  upon  them  from  the  wagons  continually  passing, 


IN  AUNT  M ELY'S   CABIN.  121 

and  blackened  in  the  coal-dust.  It  had  caught  in  the  delicate 
lily-cups;  it  weighed  down  the  roses;  and  in  the  broad  foliage 
of  the  arbor- vitae  it  had  woven  itself  in  and  out  until  each 
piece  was  like  a  fan.  With  the  sun  awoke  noisy  life.  The 
cotton-drays  raced  along  Front  Row,  their  black  drivers  stand 
ing  in  them,  hatless,  shoeless,  and  ragged,  urging  on  their 
mules  with  discordant  cries.  The  bleating  of  goats  was  heard 
from  the  darkey  settlement  on  the  side  of  the  cliff  as  queer 
old  aunties  and  uncles  hobbled  out  to  milk  them.  Down  on 
the  flat  the  whir  of  machinery  began ;  grimy  men  flung  oaths 
or  rough  jests  at  each  other ;  flatboats  appeared  on  the  river ; 
and  the  air  grew  dense  with  smoke  from  the  mills. 

Through  all  the  man  sleeping  under  the  cotton -shed  did 
not  stir ,  a  deep  exhaustion  seemed  to  hold  him  hand  and  foot. 
The  sun  found  him  out  and  dried  his  jeans  clothing,  warmed 
his  bare  feet,  and  even  tried  to  pierce  through  his  cold  body 
to  the  dark,  soggy  earth  on  which  it  rested.  It  beamed  on  his 
close  hair  until  it  blew  from  his  face,  light  in  color  and  curling 
at  the  ends.  The  face  was  one  common  enough  in  a  malari 
ous  country — a  yellow,  lean,  sharp  face ;  besides  this,  it  was  a 
young,  weak,  passionate  face.  The  sunbeams  were  kind  and 
did  not  wake  him.  The  eyelids  pressed  close  upon  the  eyes, 
and  the  lashes  lay  motionless  on  the  thin  cheeks. 

After  a  time  a  negro  passed  near  the  cotton -shed  —  one  of 
the  kind  called  "  roustabouts  "  in  that  part  of  the  country — 
people  who  live  in  a  happy-go-lucky  sort  of  way,  dependent 
from  day  to  day  on  stray  jobs  or  stray  thefts,  never  losing  flesh 
or  vivacity,  never  appearing  otherwise  than  supremely  content 
with  life  and  their  lot.  This  one  had  his  work  for  the  dav. 


122  DIALECT   TALES. 

A  bag  was  hung  over  his  shoulder,  and  he  was  picking  up  the 
loose  cotton  that  had  fallen  from  burst  bales  preparatory  to 
cleansing  it  for  the  gin.  He  saw  the  sleeping  man,  and  be 
came  instinct  with  the  natural  hostility  that  the  negro  seems 
to  have  for  the  poor  white. 

"  Git  up  from  dar,  you  lazy  tramp !"  he  shouted,  and,  seeing 
that  the  man  did  not  stir,  he  picked  up  a  bit  of  coal  and  threw 
it  with  such  precision  as  to  hit  the  sleeper  on  his  sunburnt  neck. 

He  started  up  and  stared  around  him  with  a  gleam  of 
ferocity  in  his  eyes. 

The  negro  laughed  loudly.  "  What  gyardin  did  you  come 
outen  ?"  he  said.  "  You's  enough  to  skeer  de  crows,  you  is." 

The  man  took  no  notice  of  his  gibes,  but  staggering  to  his 
feet  walked  slowly  across  the  flat  and  up  the  stone  steps. 
Now  and  then  he  put  his  hand  to  his  head  in  a  confused  way. 
"I  must  git  across  the  city,"  he  muttered:  "there's  good  hid 
ing  in  some  o'  the  slums  'round  the  bayou." 

He  turned  up  Promenade  Street,  walking  with  slow,  drag 
ging  steps.  "Seems  to  me  I'm  powerful  weak,"  he  muttered. 
"  Has  it  been  longer'n  a  day  sence  I  tuk  my  food  ?" 

"Chickee!  chick!  chick!  chick!" 

He  stopped  at  the  sweet  sound  of  a  child's  voice,  and  look 
ing  over  a  broken  gate  saw  a  little  blue -eyed  girl  feeding 
chickens  by  the  wood-pile  in  the  yard. 

"  Sissy,  can  you  give  me  a  glass  of  buttermilk  ?" 

"  Mamma !  mamma !"  called  the  child,  "  here's  a  man  wants 
some  buttermilk." 

"  He  will  have  to  wait  for  it,"  answered  a  voice  from  the 
house :  "  the  churn  won't  be  ready  for  half  an  hour." 


IN  AUNT  MELY'S  CABIN.  128 

"  Come  in,"  said  the  little  maid,  running  to  the  gate  and 
holding  it  open.  "  You  can  wait  a  while,  can't  you  ?  Here's  a 
seat  on  the  wood-pile." 

He  followed  her  like  one  in  a  dream. 

She  stood  up  before  him,  a  straight,  sweet  shape,  and 
began  to  talk.  "  You  don't  look  very  nice,"  said  she,  her  eyes 
wandering  over  his  torn,  soiled  garments,  with  bits  of  coal  and 
dirt  falling  away  from  the  side  that  had  lain  next  to  the  earth ; 
"  but  I  s'pose  you  were  a  soldier." 

"  No,  little  girl ;   I  never  wuz  a  soldier." 

"  I'm  s'prised  to  hear  that.  My  papa  was  a  colonel,  and 
nearly  all  the  men  that  come  here  and — and — ask  for  things, 
you  know,  b'longed  to  some  big  general's  army  —  Lee's  or 
Forrest's  or  Hood's.  I  can't  remember  all  the  names." 

He  said  nothing,  and  little  Miss  Delicacy  feared  she  had 
hurt  his  feelings.  "Do  you  like  sugar-cakes?"  she  said,  sooth 
ingly. 

He  nodded  his  head. 

"  The  trouble  is  " — she  drew  nearer  and  lowered  her  voice 
confidentially — "  there  are  so  many  boys  about,  and  they  are 
dreadfiil  fellows  for  sugar-cakes.  They  hardly  ever  leave  any 
till  next  day.  But  I'll  see  about  it." 

She  disappeared  behind  the  honeysuckle  that  hung  over 
the  porch,  but  she  did  not  come  back.  The  sound  of  tempest 
uous  sobbing  came  from  within,  and  it  was  plain  she  had 
either  been  disappointed  of  the  sugar-cakes  or,  as  was  more 
likely,  forbidden  a  social  chat  with  a  tramp. 

The  man  took  no  heed  of  her  absence.  He  lifted  his  eyes 
and  looked  across  the  river  to  Hopefield,  the  little  town  so 


124  DIALECT   TALES. 

white  and  still.  But  to  him  it  seemed  to  run  with  blood 
and  ring  with  sound.  His  teeth  clinched  together;  his  eyes 
glowed  in  his  set  face  like  eyes  in  discolored  marble.  Close 
by  the  river-bank  was  his  home,  a  log-house,  weather-boarded, 
that  he  had  built  himself.  He  could  see  the  zigzag  line  of  the 
fence  and  the  hollyhocks  growing  by  the  window.  He  had 
planted  them  there  two  years  ago,  when  he  married  little  Betty 
Hill  and  brought  her  home.  What  those  years  had  been  to 
him  he  and  God  knew.  He  was  poor,  but  Betty  had  made 
him  love  his  daily  work.  He  -was  ignorant,  but  Betty  had 
been  his  teacher.  He  was  rough,  but  Betty  was  fine.  That 
for  which  men  have 

"  Ransacked  the  ages,  spoiled  the  climes, " 

had  come  to  him  pressed  down  and  running  over.  And 
now — 

Wrenching  his  mind  from  that  horrible  "  now,"  he  threw 
back  his  thoughts  to  the  early  days  of  his  love  and  hers: 
"  She  allays  belonged  ter  me.  I  learnt  her  ter  swim  an'  ter 
fish  an'  ter  row.  We  gethered  hick'ry-nuts  in  th'  same  basket, 
an'  I  marked  every  sweet-gum  tree  she  wanted,  so  't  not  a  boy 
in  Hopefield  dared  ter  tech  one  of  'em.  I  cut  her  name  in  my 
arm ;  and  once  I  took  a  stran'  of  her  long  black  hair  and 
sewed  it  over  my  heart  so  deep  that  the  blood  run  every  time 
I  drawed  the  needle  out.  Little  Betty!  Little  Betty!  Wuz 
ther'  ever  a  time  I  didn't  love  her?  I  toted  her  in  my  arms 
when  she  wuz  a  teenchy  baby,  an'  I  watched  her  year  by  year 
growin'  purtier,  an'  straighter  'n  a  saplin'  in  the  woods.  She 
never  growed  very  tall;  on'y  as  high  as  my  heart,  she  said. 


IN  AUNT  M ELY'S  CABIN.  125 

She  had  sech  a  purty  way  of  sayin'  things ! — nimble  with  her 
tongue  as  she  wuz  with  her  feet  in  a  reel."  His  lips  parted 
with  something  like  a  smile. 

"  Here  is  the  buttermilk,"  said  the  child's  voice,  "  and  the 
sugar-cakes  too ;  but  I  had  to  cry  for  them." 

He  started  to  his  feet,  and,  taking  the  bowl,  drank  the  milk 
thirstily,  a  faint  color  coming  under  his  brown  skin.  But  he 
never  took  his  eyes  from  the  Hopefield  shore ;  and  as  he 
drained  the  last  drop  he  saw  three  men  walking  rapidly  down 
toward  the  river.  His  heart  gave  a  wild  leap :  the  bowl  drop 
ped  from  his  hands.  "  They're  on  my  track,"  he  said,  hoarsely. 

No  use  now  to  hurry  across  the  city  to  hide  in  the  slums : 
it  was  too  late  for  that  plan.  In  his  pressing  need  a  sudden 
thought  came  to  him  of  an  old  black  wroman  who  lived  near. 
She  had  belonged  to  a  minister's  family  in  Hopefield.  He 
had  known  her  all  his  life ;  she  had  made  a  pet  of  him,  and 
would  befriend  him  now. 

He  walked  quickly  out  of  the  yard  toward  the  hovel  that 
Aunt  Mely  called  home.  It  was  a  chance  whether  he  ever 
reached  it,  for  he  stopped  at  the  steepest  height  of  the  bluff, 
and  for  one  mad  moment  thought  how  easy  it  would  be  to 
crush  out  fear,  remorse,  agony,  life,  in  one  short,  sharp  point  of 
time.  But  he  drew  back  and  walked  on  with  long,  quick  steps. 

Aunt  Mely's  house  was  poised  on  the  side  of  the  bluff  like 
a  rocking-stone.  Back  of  it  was  a  struggling  garden,  protected 
from  the  goats  by  a  queer  sort  of  fence  made  of  all  the  refuse 
stuff  Aunt  Mely  could  find — broad  planks  and  narrow  planks, 
old  fence-rails,  sticks  of  wood  and  brush-heaps.  Of  the  house 
itself  you  could  not  say  that  one  part  was  worse  than  another. 


126  DIALECT   TALES. 

It  seemed  to  hang  together  by  attenuated  threads.  Samson 
in  his  days  of  bibs  and  long- gowns  could  have  brought  it 
about  his  ears  with  a  vigorous  infantine  kick.  The  chimney 
was  remarkable.  It  had  been  daubed  with  mud  and  stuck 
with  clay,  and  on  the  outside  Aunt  Mely  had  nailed  a  shining 
sheet  of  tin. 

The  old  woman  was  bustling  about  in-doors  when  a  shadow 
came  between  her  and  the  sun.  She  looked  up  and  saw  a 
man's  form  in  the  door-wray:  "  Lor'  bless  my  soul,  Phil  Vick- 
ers  !  is  dat  you  ?  What's  de  matter  wid  you  ?" 

"  I'm  in  great  trouble,  Aunt  Mely.  I  want  you  to  help  me 
—hide  me." 

"Hide  you?     Why,  what  hev  you  been  a-doin'?" 

He  pushed  his  way  beside  her  into  the  room. 

She  followed  him  and  shut  the  door.  "What  have  you 
done,  boy  ?"  she  repeated. 

"  I've  killed  Tom  Jack,  if  you  must  know." 

"  Killed  Tom  Jack  !  Phil  Vickers,  you  God-forsaken  cree- 
tur'!  what  did  you  do  dat  for?" 

His  eyes  sparkled;  he  forgot  his  terror;  his  voice  rose  to 
a  shrill  key  and  shook  in  speaking :  "  Aunt  Mely,  tell  me  this : 
have  I  been  a  good  husband  to  Betty  Hill  ?" 

"Yes,  you  have,  Phil:  come  what  may,  I'll  always  b'ar  wit 
ness  to  dat." 

"  I've  loved  her,  Aunt  Mely,  and  you  know  it.  She  lay  on 
my  heart  day  an'  night.  I  thought  she  wuz  a  true  wife  to  me." 

"  So  she  wuz,  Phil — so  she  wuz.  Many  an'  many's  de  time 
she  said  ter  me,  'My  Phil's  de  sweetest,  kindest  boy  dat  ever 
lived.' " 


IN  AUNT  M ELY'S  CABIN.  127 

He  broke  into  a  howl  of  anguish :  "  Now  you  hear  what 
that  counts  up  ter.  I  got  home  Monday  night  from  a  day's 
huntin':  I  had  a  deer  on  my  shoulder.  It  wuz  the  day  befo' 
Moddy-Gras,  you  know ;  we  wuz  comin'  across  next  day  to  see 
the  sights.  I  had  been  whistlin'  loud,  but  I  stopped  when  I 
got  in  hollerin'  reach  o'  the  house,  and  slipped  to  the  winder 
to  see  what  Little  Betty  wuz  doin'.  An'  thar,  sho'  as  thar's  a 
livin'  God,  standin'  by  my  wife,  his  arm  round  her  waist,  wuz  a 
man!  Things  swum  befo' my  eyes  for  a  minnit;  then  the 
pine -knots  blazed  up  an'  I  saw  Tom  Jack's  face.  I  watched 
'em.  They  were  talkin'  an'  laughin'  quite  frien'ly,  Tom  strut- 
tin'  about  like  a  dancin'-jack.  Then  he  comes  up  to  her 
ag'in,  pulls  at  her  dress  an'  kisses  her  on  the  bare  neck,  she 
a-laughin'  an'  a-strugglin'  with  him,  as  she'd  done  with  me  a 
thousan'  times.  I  lifted  my  rifle,  thankin'  God  there  wuz  a 
load  in  it,  an'  shot.  I'd  as  lief  ha'  hit  'em  both ;  but  on'y  Tom 
Jack  dropped,  and  Little  Betty  stood  screamin'  over  him  an' 
wringin'  her  han's.  I  flung  down  my  rifle  an'  run  to  the 
woods.  I  wuz  thar  all  that  night  an'  yesterday,  walkin',  walk- 
in',  walkin',  till  another  night  come ;  an'  I  swum  the  river  befo' 
sun-up  this  mornin'." 

"  God  forgive  you,  Phil !     God  forgive  you  fo'  yer  sin !" 

"  Sin,  is  it  ? — sin  to  shoot  a  man  who  wants  to  reap  a  crop 
I've  fenced  in?  Don't  talk  to  me  about  sin,  old  Mely  Mitchell !" 

"  Thar !  thar !  poor  boy  !  Don't  look  at  me  so  wild  !  What 
kin  I  do  for  you,  honey?" 

"Whatever  you  do  must  be  done  soon,"  he  said,  sullenly. 
u  I  saw  some  men  leave  Hopefield  as  I  started  here :  they  must 
be  nearly  across." 

9 


128  DIALECT   TALES. 

44 1  ain't  got  a  place  on  de  yearth  to  hide  you,  Phil,  'thouten' 
you  kin  git  in  de  chimley :  they'll  never  think  o'  lookin'  dar. 
You  kin  keep  in  all  day,  and  steal  off  when  night  comes.  I 
think  you'd  better  take  ter  de  woods  ag'in." 

"  I  won't  do  that — not  unless  I  want  ter  go  blind  crazy." 

"  See  'f  you  kin  crawl  in  de  chimley.  Dar  ain't  been  no 
fire  in  it  for  a  month  o'  Sundays.  It  smokes  so  bad  I  can't 
cook  nothin'.  You  kin  stan'  up,  an'  I'll  put  a  cheer  in  de 
fireplace,  and  pile  it  up  wid  my  ole  clo'es,  ter  hide  yer  legs.'' 

44  Look  out,  Aunt  Mely,  an'  see  'f  they're  comin'." 

She  opened  the  door  cautiously :  "  I  see  three  men  at  de 
landin',  Phil,  but  dey  ain't  a -comin'  dis  way.  Dey's  struck 
across  Front  Row." 

44  They're  off  my  track.  They'll  look  for  me  in  the  very 
slums  I  meant  to  hide  in." 

44  For  all  dat,  dis  ain't  a  safe  place  fo'  you,  Phil." 

44  Do  you  want  to  turn  me  out  of  your  house  ?" 

44  God  forbid,  you  po'  boy !  Stay  and  git  what  comfort  you 
kin.  Stretch  yerself  out  on  dat  bed  dar  and  try  ter  rest.  I'll 
watch  out  fo'  you." 

He  threw  himself  down  and  tried  to  sleep,  but  in  vain. 
His  blood  began  to  burn  and  race  in  his  veins ;  pain  struck 
at  him  with  a  thousand  whips.  He  held  his  hands  over  his 
mouth  to  keep  himself  from  screaming  aloud. 

Toward  noon  he  heard,  as  from  some  far-off  place,  Aunt 
Mely's  voice :  4'  Phil,  honey,  dey're  comin'  back." 

He  sprung  up  and  thrust  his  head  recklessly  out  of  the 
door. 

44  Git  back,  Phil !"  said  the  old  woman,  sharply.     44 1  kin  tell 


IN  AUNT  M ELY'S  CABIN.  129 

you  all  dar  is  to  tell.  Dey's  stoppin'  now  at  a  house  on  Prom 
enade  Street.  Dey's  drawin'  water  at  de  well  by  de  wood-pile, 
an'  a  little  gal  is  talkin'  to  dem." 

"  She  gave  me  some  buttermilk  this  mornin' :  she  saw  the 
way  I  come.  I'm  a  lost  man  !" 

"  No,  you  ain't.  You  jes  git  right  in  de  chimley,  an'  I'll 
deal  wid  'em  if  dey  come  r'arin'  roun'  dis  house." 

By  the  time  he  was  well  in  the  hiding-place  the  men  had 
turned  toward  the  negro  quarter.  Aunt  Mely  sat  down  and 
went  to  work  quietly  on  a  patchwork  quilt,  ready  to  receive 
them  with  proper  surprise  and  dignity.  But  when  they  came 
the  work  fell  from  her  hands,  her  skin  turned  ashen-gray,  she 
shook  in  every  limb ;  for  Tom  Jack  was  the  first  man  to  burst 
into  the  room  —  Tom  Jack,  strong  in  virile  life,  angry -eyed,  a 
long  knife  stuck  in  his  belt. 

Aunt  Mely  was  a  shrewd  old  soul ;  she  recovered  herself 
quickly,  and  said  nothing.  "  Phil  sartinly  shot  somebody,"  she 
thought,  "  an'  I'll  jes  hoi'  my  tongue  till  I  see  how  things  is 
gwine  ter  turn  out." 

"  Where  is  Phil  Vickers  ?"  said  Tom,  in  a  voice  husky  with 
passion. 

"  Phil  Vickers  ?  Why,  I  ain't  seed  de  boy  sence  I  went 
over  to  his  house  'bout  a  week  back  to  git  a  settin'  of  eggs 
Miss  Betty  'd  been  savin'  up  for  me." 

"  Now,  come,  Aunt  Mely,"  said  one  of  the  party,  good- 
humoredly,  "  you  needn't  lie.  Little  Sally  Polk  saw  him  come 
right  in  yer  do'.  We  left  a  p'liceman  huntin'  him  in  the  city, 
an'  wuz  on  our  way  back  to  Hopefield  when  the  child  told  us 
whar  he  were." 


130  DIALECT   TALES. 

"  O  my  soul !  What's  poor  Phil  done  dat  you're  all  a-hunt- 
in'  him  like  a  pack  o'  noun's  ?" 

"Phil's  had  a  little  shootin'  affair,"  said  the  good-natured 
man. 

"Who'd  he  shoot?" 

"Who'd  he  shoot?"  cried  Tom  Jack.  "The  sweetest,  bright 
est  creetur'  the  Lord  ever  made — my  sister,  Nancy  Jack." 

In  the  dreadful  silence  that  followed  a  convulsive,  gasping 
sound  was  heard.  The  next  moment  Phil  Vickers  sprung  out, 
his  hair  and  clothes  covered  with  mould,  like  a  spectre  from 
the  grave.  "Is  this  true,  boys?  Did  I  kill  Nancy  Jack?"  he 
said,  in  a  harsh,  hollow  voice. 

Jack  sprung  at  him,  his  knife  flashing  in  the  air.  But  he 
was  caught  and  held  back  by  one  of  the  men  with  him : 
"  Softly,  Tom,  softly !  Let  Phil  have  fair  play." 

"  Fair  play  for  a  man  who  shot  down  my  sister  in  cold 
blood  ?" 

"As  God  sees  me,  Tom,  I  thought  it  wuz  you  kissin'  Little 
Betty." 

"  That's  an  argyment,  Tom,"  said  the  third  man,  who  had 
a  long,  sad  face,  and  who  lingered  over  his  words  as  if  he  were 
patting  them  —  "that's  an  argyment  as  '11  go  down  with  the 
jury.  It  wuz  night;  you  an'  Nancy  are  alike  in  the  face; 
you've  got  no  whiskers,  you  know,  Tom.  How  wuz  Phil  to 
know  that  it  wuz  Nancy  a-showin'  herself  off  to  Little  Betty, 
dressed  up  in  your  clo'es  for  a  Moddy-Gras  frolic  ?". 

As  he  heard  a  curious  change  came  over  Phil.  His  knees 
began  to  shake  pitiably,  his  body  to  collapse.  He  held  out  his 


IN  AUNT  M ELY'S  CABIN.  131 

hand  as  if  trying  to  steady  himself,  and,  grasping  only  air,  fell 
slowly  to  the  floor,  saying,  in  a  stifled  voice,  "  Let  Tom  kill 
me :  I  ain't  fit  to  live." 

"  The  hangman  will  do  it  for  me,"  said  Tom,  with  a  snarl. 

"  Is  de  po'  gal  dead  ?"  said  Aunt  Mely. 

"  No,  she  ain't  dead  —  she  ain't  dead  yit?  rejoined  the  sad- 
faced  man.  "  We  couldn't  git  a  doctor  yisterday,  de  town  wuz 
in  such  a  swivet.  But  Dr.  Taylor  he  come  over  las'  night,  an' 
is  thar  now.  He  ain't  foun'  de  bullet.  He  says  Nancy's  in  a 
cosmotose  state." 

Now,  while  this  talk  was  going  on  some  one  else  was 
crossing  the  river  from  Hopefield — a  sturdy  little  woman  with 
black  hair  and  eyes.  She  was  seated  in  the  exact  centre  of  a 
knife-bottomed  boat  that  cut  through  the  water  fast  as  a  bird 

flies.     With  her  single  oar  flashing  into   the  water  on   either 

* 
side  she  made  quick  time  across  the  Mississippi ;  and  now  she 

came  flying  into  Aunt  Mely's  cabin,  a  little  vehement  whirl- 
•wind  of  a  creature,  with  a  voice  as  high  and  sweet  as  a  bird- 
note.  I 

"  Oh !  thank  goodness  !  you  are  all  here !"  she  cried,  broken 
ly.  Then  she  caught  Tom  Jack's  hand :  "  Oh,  Tom,  she  is 
saved !  The  doctor  has  found  the  bullet.  He  says  she  is  all 
right  now — will  need  nothing  but  good  nursing;  an'  that,  you 
know,  she'll  have.  I  won't  leave  her  night  nor  day  till  she's 
on  her  feet ;"  and  Little  Betty  burst  into  tears,  in  which,  per 
haps,  all  wanted  to  join. 

"  How'd  you  come  here,  chile?"  said  Aunt  Mely. 

"  I   wuz  so  anxious   about  Nancy  that   I  couldn't  think  of 


132  DIALECT   TALES. 

anything  else  till  the  doctor  had  spoke.  Then  my  mind  mis 
trusted  me  about  Tom.  I  asked  where  he  wuz,  an'  they  told 
me  he  had  taken  his  bowie-knife  an'  gone  over  to  the  city.  I 
wuz  afeard  he  had  got  on  Phil's  track.  I  jumped  in  the  canoe 
and  rushed  over  just  blindly.  But  the  first  man  I  met  on  the 
Flat  said  he'd  seen  some  Hopefield  men  go  into  Aunt  Mely's 
cabin.  So  I  came  right  here.  Thank  God  for  it !  thank  God 
for  it !" 

"  It's  a  good  thing  for  Phil  that  Nancy  '11  git  well,"  remark 
ed  the  sad  man,  slowly  tearing  off  a  strip  of  tobacco  from  a 
ragged  roll ;  "  the  law  can't  do  nothin'  to  him  now,  'thouten  it 
shets  him  up  a  while  for  'sault  an'  battery." 

"  His  account  with  me  ain't  settled  yet,"  said  Tom  Jack, 
ominously.  "  Look  to  yourself,  Phil  Vickers !  Blood's  got  to 
pay  for  blood !" 

"  Oh,  Tom !  Tom  !"  cried  Little  Betty,  the  tears  streaming 
down  her  face,  "forgive  us.  We  didn't  mean  to  do  you  any 
harm.  Phil  would  ha'  died  a  thousand  deaths  befo'  he'd  ha'- 
harmed  a  hair  of  Nancy's  head.  Tom,  no  wife  nor  child  nor 
sister  will  ever  pray  for  you  and  bless  you  as  I  will  if  you'll 
just  shake  hands  friendly  and  say,  '  Phil,  I  pardon  you.'  Nancy 
would  do  it ;  I  know  she  would.  Oh,  what  can  I  say  to  you  ? 
I'll  go  on  my  knees  to  you,  Tom." 

She  fell  on  her  knees  and  lifted  her  warm,  wet,  beautiful 
eyes  to  Tom's  face. 

"  Get  up,  child,"  he  said,  hoarsely.  "  I'll  let  him  go,  an' 
when  Nancy's  on  her*  legs  ag'in  I'll  shake  hands." 

He  turned  abruptly  and  left  the  house. 


IN  AUNT  M ELY'S   CABIN.  133 

Phil's  head  fell  on  his  breast:  "You'd  better  have  let  him 
kill  me,  Little  Betty.  I  ain't  fit  to  be  the  husband  of  such  as 
you." 

But  Little  Betty  drew  the  tired  head  to  her  tender  heart 
and  looked  defiantly  round  upon  the  others,  as  if  throwing  all 
the  splendor  of  her  faithful  love  between  Phil  and  any  look  of 
contempt  or  blame. 


134  DIALECT   TALES. 


THE  CASE  OF  ELIZA  BLEYLOCK. 

/CAPTAIN  JAMES  PETERS,  riding  home  from  a  raid 
into  the  moonshine  counties,  stopped  at  Jared's  store  and 
asked  for  a  drink.  A  jug  was  taken  from  the  shelf,  and  a 
finger's-length  of  clear  yellow  whiskey  poured  out. 

"  No  moonshine  in  this  sto',  you  see,  captain,"  remarked 
Mr.  Jared. 

"  Humph !"  and  the  captain's  keen  eyes  glanced  toward  the 
loungers  in  and  about  the  store.  "  Reckon  if  I  took  a  notion 
I  could  unearth  some  moonshine,  an'  spot  some  moonshiners 
not  fur  off." 

"  Captain,  you  mustn't  be  so  suspicious." 

"  Suspicious  ?  Reckon  I  shouldn't  earn  my  pay  'f  I  wuzn't. 
S'picion  's  mighty  good  thing  for  a  man -hunter.  My  game's 
shy.  But  I've  my  eye  on  mo'  than  knows  of  me.  Some  folks 
'11  find  thar  b'ilers  smashed  when  they  dunno  I'm  aroun'." 

Silence.  Some  of  the  young  men  shrugged  their  shoul 
ders.  One  drawled  out  at  last  that  he  "  didn't  know  as  any 
body  keered  three  jumps  of  a  louse  fur  Jim  Peters  or  his 
threatening." 

"Come,  come,"  said  a  cunning -looking  old  man;  "don't 
let's  have  no  words.  We're  all  peaceful  folks,  captain,  in  this 
here  settlement — powerful  peaceful.  Ter  be  sho',  we  don't  like 


THE  CASE  OF  ELIZA   BLEYLOCK.  135 

nobody  a-foolin'  round  our  business.  We  come  from  Car'liny 
more'n  a  hundered  ye'rs  ago,  an'  here  we've  lived  peaceful  an' 
orderly  ever  sence  —  a-livin'  an'  a-dyin'  an'  a-marryin'  an' 
a-breedin' — '' 

"An'  a-learnin'  th'  use  of  th'  shot-gun,"  interposed  Dick 
Oscar,  quietly. 

"  I'm  a  Tennessee  man  myself,"  said  Captain  Peters,  "  an' 
I  ruther  think  I  know  how  t'  use  a  shot-gun.  An'  I've  got  a 
rifle — that's  a  sixteeri-shooter." 

There  was  a  general  movement  of  interest. 

"  Let's  have  a  look  at  it,  captain." 

"  It  don't  go  out  o'  my  hand.  But  you  can  look  much  's 
you  please.  Ain't  she  a  beauty,  now  ?" 

They  crowded  around,  patting  and  praising  the  gun  as  if 
it  were  human.  And  there  was  a  general  murmur  of  assent 
when  old  man  Welch  exclaimed,  "  Ain't  it  a  pity,  boys,  ter  see 
sech  a  rifle  as  that  throwed  away  on  a  damned  Gov'ment 
officer?" 

Captain  Peters  only  laughed.  He  was  very  good-humored, 
this  mountain  terror,  except  when,  as  they  would  say,  his  blood 
was  up.  Then  it  was  as  safe  to  meet  a  starving  tiger. 

"  Seems  to  me  's  if  the  captain  has  somethin'  on  his  mind," 
remarked  Mrs.  Riggs  that  same  evening. 

The  Riggses  lived  at  Bloomington,  and  the  captain  and  his 
family  were  paying  them  a  visit,  preparatory  to  settling  in  the 
same  place.  Mrs.  Riggs  was  a  bustling  young  woman,  "  born 
in  quite  another  part  of  the  State,"  as  she  would  tell  you,  with 
an  air;  "  no  mopin'  mountain  blood  in  me"  She  was  the  third 
wife  of  her  husband — a  sanctimonious  old  chap,  with  his  long 


136  DIALECT   TALES. 

white  beard,  the  ends  of  which  he  used  to  assist  meditation, 
as  a  cow  chews  its  cud. 

"James  Riggs,"  his  wife  had  said  when  he  courted  her, 
"  it's  my  opinion  you  talked  them  two  previous  women  to 
death ;  but  if  you  get  me,  mark  one  thing — you'll  get  your 
match."  And  he  did. 

The  Riggses  were  extremely  sensible  of  the  honor  of  hav 
ing  Captain  Peters  in  their  house.  Dom  Pedro  and  Cetywayo 
rolled  into  one  could  not  have  been  watched  with  more  solici 
tude.  Had  not  his  name  been  in  every  paper  in  the  Union, 
and  his  portrait  in  a  New  York  journal  ?  That  the  eyes  of  the 
nation  were  fixed  upon  him  Peters  himself  did  not  doubt;  and 
it  was  asserted  through  the  country  that  he  was  in  close  cor 
respondence  with  th€  President. 

"Jim's  been  a-broodin',"  said  Mrs.  Peters — a  moon-faced 
woman  with  dull  blue  eyes — "  ever  sence  he  went  inter  this 
business.  I've  wished  time  'n'  ag'in  he'd  stuck  to  blacksmithin', 
for  I've  suffered  a  thousan'  deaths  with  him  off  a-hagarin'* 
over  the  mountains." 

"  He  wuz  called  of  the  Lord,"  said  Mr.  Riggs,  "  and  his 
hand  must  not  be  stayed.  The  inikity  of  man  shell  be  put 
down  in  the  land." 

"Ye — es,"  drawled  the  captain,  "I'm  a-goin'  to  bust  up  the 
'stillin'  business  in  Tennessee.  But  I'm  plagued  about  them 
Bleylock  boys.  I  can't  ketch  'em  nohow." 

A  knock  at  the  door,  and  a  young  fellow  came  in  and 
shook  hands  eagerly  with  the  captain.  His  name  was  Mad- 

*  Wandering. 


THE  CASE  OF  ELIZA   BLEYLOCK.  137 

clox.  Captain  Peters  had  picked  him  up  in  Nashville,  and 
employed  him  "  on  trial." 

"I  wuz  jest  a-speakin'  of  the  Bleylocks,"  he  said.  "I'm 
pretty  sure  they've  got  a  still  somewhar.  They  look  me  in 
the  eye  too  powerful  innocent  to  be  all  right.  Now,  I've  got  a 
notion — "  Maddox  drew  himself  up,  alert,  watchful  as  a  listen 
ing  sentinel.  "  What  can't  be  done  one  way  must  be  done  an 
other,"  said  Captain  Peters,  slowly. 

"  And  rightly  you  speak,"  said  Mr.  Riggs,  as  he  spat  out 
his  beard ;  "  it's  the  Lord's  work,  an'  be  done  it  must,  with 
every  wepping  known  to  man." 

"I  knew  it! — I  knew  it,  captain!"  cried  Mrs.  Riggs.  "I 
knew  you  had  somethin'  on  your  mind.  You're  a-schemin' 
somethin'  great.  I  see  it  in  your  eye." 

It  remained  in  the  captain's  eye,  as  far  as  Mrs.  Riggs  was 
concerned,  for  the  captain  took  Mr.  Maddox  out-of-doors,  where 
they  talked  in  whispers,  and  Mrs.  Riggs  berated  her  lord  for 
having  driven  them  away  with  his  tongue. 

A  few  days  later  a  peddler  stopped  at  Bleylock's  and  asked 
for  a  drink  of  water.  Old  Mother  Bleylock  sent  Eliza  to  the 
spring  for  a  fresh  bucketful ;  and  the  peddler,  after  refreshing 
himself,  opened  his  pack. 

"'Pears  's  if  we  oughtn't  ter  trouble  you,"  she  said,  "'cause 
we  can't  buy  a  pin's  wuth." 

"Jest  for  the  pleasure,  ma'am,"  said  the  gallant  peddler. 

The  pack  was  opened,  and  three  pairs  of  eyes  grew  big 
with  delight. 

"  'F  you'll  wait  till  par  comes  I'll  make  him  buy  me  that 
collar,"  said  Janey,  the  younger  of  the  Bleylock  girls. 


138  DIALECT   TALES. 

"  PVaps  Dick  Oscar  'd  buy  you  a  present  'f  he  wuz  here," 
suggested  Eliza. 

"  If  'tain't  makin'  too  free,  I'd  like  to  say  I  admire  Dick 
Oscar's  taste,"  said  the  peddler,  with  an  admiring  glance. 

Janey  responded  with,  "  Oh !  you  hush  !"  and  a  toss  of  her 
head ;  and  old  Mother  Bleylock  said,  "  The  boys  most  gener 
ally  always  paid  Janey  a  good  deal  'f  attention." 

She  possessed  a  bold  prettiness,  this  mountain  pink. 
Brown-skinned,  black-eyed,  red-lipped,  and  a  way  of  dropping 
her  head  on  her  swelling  neck,  and  looking  mutiny  from  under 
her  heavy  brows.  Eliza  was  a  thin  slip  of  a  girl,  with  a  de 
mure  but  vacant  look  in  her  blue  eyes,  and  a  shy,  nervous 
manner. 

"  I'll  tell  you  the  truth,  ma'am,"  remarked  the  peddler  to 
the  mother :  "  you  could  take  these  girls  o'  yours  to  Nashville, 
an'  people  in  th'  streets  would  follow  them  for  their  good  looks. 
An'  that's  Heaven's  own  tru-th.  All  yo'  family,  these  two  ?" 

"Lor!  no;   I've  got  three  boys." 

"All  at  home  farmin',  I  s'pose?" 

"  Yaas." 

"Long  road  to  take  their  crops  to  market." 

"I  ain't  never  heerd  no  complaint." 

"  Now,  'bout  these  goods  o'  mine,"  said  the  peddler;  " 'f  you 
could  put  me  up  for  a  few  days,  we  might  make  a  trade.  I'm 
's  tired  's  a  lame  horse,  and  wouldn't  want  nothin'  better'n  to 
rest  right  here." 

"I'd  like  nothin'  better'n  to  take  you.  But  th'  ain't  no  use 
sayin'  a  word  till  par  gits  home.  He  ain't  no  hand  fur  stran- 
gers." 


THE   CASE  OF  ELIZA   BLEYLOCK.  139 

"Well,  I  won't  be  a  stranger  longer'n  I  can  help,"  said  the 
agreeable  peddler.  "  My  name's  Pond — Marcus  Pond — Nash 
ville  boy;  but  a  rollin'  stone,  you  know.  I've  peddled  books 
an'  sewin'-machines,  an'  no  end  of  a  lot  of  traps  ginerally. 
Fond  o'  travel,  you  see ;  but  jest  's  steady  as  old  Time.  Never 
drink  when  I  travel ;  promised  my  mother  I  wouldn't." 

"Tis  a  good  thing,"  said  Mother  Bleylock,  with  energy.  "I 
do  despise  to  see  a  fuddled  man.  Whiskey  ain't  fit  fur  nothin' 
but  ter  fatten  hogs  on." 

Father   Bleylock  came   home,  and,  beyond    a   stare    and    a 

silent   nod,  took  little  notice    of  the  peddler.     He   was    a  tall 

"man,  thin,  taciturn,  and  yellow,  and  with  a  neck  so  small  that 

his  head  presented  the   appearance  of  being  stuck  on   with   a 

pin. 

He  lighted  his  pipe,  and  after  a  soothing  interval  of  smok 
ing,  "Peddler  'd  like  to  stop  over  a  period,"  said  his  wife. 

Puff,  puff.     "Don't  see  no  objection."     Puff,  puff. 

And  a  gentle  hilarity  agitated  the  bosoms  that  yearned 
over  the  peddler's  pack. 

Mr.  Pond,  as  he  had  promised,  soon  ceased  to  be  a  stran 
ger.  The  old  man  discoursed  on  the  grievances  of  taxes,  and 
the  old  woman,  after  the  manner  of  mothers,  talked  about  her 
daughters. 

"My  gals  is  eddicated,"  she  would  say — "been  over  t'  Cook- 
ville  months  an'  months  a-schoolin'.  But,  lor !  thar's  some  folks 
you  can't  weed  the  badness  out'n,  an'  Janey's  a  spitfire,  she  is. 
Seems  's  if  Dick  Oscar  wants  to  have  her,  but  he  acts  kinder 
curious  about  it — blow  hot,  blow  cold.  Dunno.  Now,  Lizy  is 
different.  Can't  tell  why,  less'n  'tis  that  I  went  to  camp-meetin' 


140  DIALECT   TALES. 

an'  perfessed  a  while  befo'  she  wuz  born.  Somehow  she's  al 
ways  been  delicater  an'  quieter  like  'n  any  of  my  childern." 

The  Bleylock  boys,  easy,  rollicking  fellows,  treated  the  ped 
dler  very  much  as  if  he  had  been  a  harmless  though  unneces 
sary  cat  about  the  house,  and  were  surprised  when  Dick  Oscar, 
dropping  in  one  evening,  informed  them  that  they  were  all  a 
pack  of  fools  for  "  takin'  in  a  stranger  so  free  and  easy." 

"Why,  I  ain't  paid  no  more  attention  to  th'  man  'n  if  he'd 
a-been  a  preacher,"  said  Sam  Bleylock ;  "  seems  's  if  th'  ain't  no 
harm  t'  him." 

"He's  a  very  God-fearin'  man,"  said  Eliza,  softly,  "an'  a 
powerful  reader  o'  the  Bible." 

"  'F  you'll  take  my  say  so,  you'll  git  quit  of  him,"  said  Dick 
Oscar. 

"He's  got  such  beautiful  taste!"  said  Mother  Bleylock. 
"It's  as  good  's  goin'  to  th'  city  to  look  at  his  things." 

"  I  see  he's  been  a-dressin'  you  up,"  said  Oscar,  with  a  sneer 
at  the  new  ribbons  the  girls  wore  round  their  necks. 

Janey  sprung  up.  Her  face  reddened.  In  an  instant  she 
had  torn  off  the  ribbon  and  stamped  her  foot  on  it.  "That's 
how  much  I  care  for  him  an'  his  ribbins !"  she  cried. 

"Don't  fly  quite  off  the  handle,"  said  Mr.  Oscar,  coolly. 
Evidently  he  shared  her  mother's  opinion  that  Miss  Janey  was 
a  spitfire. 

Poor  Janey!  She  had  hoped  to  please  her  lover  by  her 
scorn  of  the  peddler's  gift,  but  she  was  coming  to  the  conclu 
sion  that  he  was  a  hard  man  to  please.  She  was  a  passionate 
young  animal,  and  she  had  thrown  herself  into  his  arms  with 
a  readiness  that  robbed  herself  of  her  graces.  He  liked  to 


THE  CASE  OF  ELIZA   B  LEY  LOCK.  141 

sting  and  stroke  her  alternately,  and  was  about  as  unsatisfac 
tory  a  lover  as  Janey  could  have  found  on  the  Cumberland. 
But  she  liked  him,  saw  with  his  eyes,  thought  with  his 
thoughts.  Naturally  she  turned  against  the  peddler,  and  from 
this  time  set  herself  to  watch  him. 

That  harmless  young  man  in  the  mean  time  was  doing 
what  he  could.  He  wandered  about  the  country,  selling  such 
little  things  as  the  people  could  buy,  "  pumping  "  the  Bleylock 
boys,  and  making  love  to  the  Bleylock  girls.  The  pumping 
process  was  rewarded  with  about  as  much  success  as  would 
attend  fishing  for  a  soul  through  the  eye  of  a  skeleton.  In 
the  love-making  there  was  more  hope. 

Janey  was  accessible  to  flattery,  and  encouraged  him  with 
little  looks  of  fire.  But  there  was  something  in  her  eyes  he 
did  not  trust,  and  he  was  a  wary  man,  the  peddler.  Besides, 
she  slapped  his  face  when  he  tried  to  kiss  her.  But  he  soon 
grew  to  believe  that  Eliza — simple,  unsuspicious,  serious— 
would  be  as  clay  in  his  hands. 

Chance  favored  Miss  Janey.  She  was  bathing,  one  warm 
day,  in  the  creek  that  ran  out  from  the  spring,  when  she  saw 
Eliza  and  the  peddler  coming,  like  Jack  and  Jill,  to  fetch  a 
pail  of  water.  Being  naked,  Janey  could  not  get  away ;  but 
she  slid  along  to  a  cool  inlet  overhung  with  tree  branches, 
and  so  hidden,  waited  for  them  to  do  their  errand.  Of  course 
they  stopped  to  talk. 

"That  pink  ribbon  becomes  your  black  hair  mightily,"  said 
the  peddler. 

Eliza  blushed.  "We're  just  country  girls,  you  know,  Mr. 
Pond ;  we  don't  have  many  pretty  things.  Seems  's  if  the 


142  DIALECT   TALES. 

boys  don't  have  any  money  left  after  buyin'  the  sugar  an' 
flour  an'  molasses  an'  things." 

"Meat,  I  s'pose?"  said  the  practical  peddler. 

"No;  we  raise  our  own  meat.    Par  has  a  powerful  lot  o'  hogs." 

"  So !" 

"But  I  expect  you  don't  take  much  interest  in  country  life, 
Mr.  Pond  ?" 

"Why,  my  dear" — and  Mr.  Pond  slipped  his  arm  around 
Eliza — "I'd  like  the  best  in  the  world  to  settle  down  in  a 
country  just  like  this.  A  fellow  gets  tired  trampin'  around. 
But  I'd  want  two  things  to  make  me  happy." 

Eliza  looked  at  him  with  happy  confidence. 

"First,  a  little  wife  'at  wuz  gentle  in  her  ways,  an'  a  good, 
religious  girl,  an'  one  with  black  hair,  to  set  off  the  pink  rib 
bons  I'd  buy  for  her,  an'  a  fleet  foot,  and  a  red  mouth." 

Here  Mr.  Pond  came  to  a  full  stop  with  a  kiss. 

"And  the  other  thing?"  with  a  bright  blush. 

The  peddler  grew  practical  again.  "Well,  it's  nothin'  more'n 
some  way  to  make  a  livin'.  Now,  say  I  married  a  sweet  girl 
up  the  Cumberland,  and  made  a  little  crop.  It's  too  far  to  git 
it  to  market.  I  might  turn  it  into  whiskey,  but  lately  Gov'- 
ment's  turned  meddler,  an'  is  a-breakin'  stills  right  an'  left 
through  the  country." 

"They  do  hide  'em  sometimes,"  said  Eliza,  in  a  half-whisper, 
ki  so't  a  blood-hound  could  hardly  scent  'em.  An'  a  very  good 
business  it  is,  an'  the  hogs  live  on  the  mash." 

"Do  you  know  of  any  such  stills,  my  little  darlin'?" 

But  she  drew  back  a  little.  "Ef  I  do  know  of  any,"  she 
said,  "I've  promised  not  to  tell  of  'em." 


THE  CASE  OF  ELIZA   B  LEY  LOCK.  143 

"Not  to  the  man  as  is  goin'  to  be  your  husband?" 

"Not  to  him  until  he  is  my  husband."  And  blushing,  but 
resolute,  Eliza  filled  her  pail  and  started  for  the  house. 

Under  the  water  Janey  clinched  her  hands.  "  Dick  was 
right,"  she  thought ;  "  and  I  see  his  game.  He's  a  spy,  and 
Eliza's  a  fool." 

She  knew  that  she  had  heard  enough  to  justify  her  lover 
in  his  suspicions,  enough  to  put  them  all  on  their  guard.  A 
passionate  exultation  fired  her  blood  as  she  thought  of  the 
service  she  should  render  Dick  Oscar,  his  praise,  the  reward 
of  his  rude  kisses. 

But,  alas  for  Janey !  something  had  rufHed  her  sweetheart's 
temper  when  next  they  met.  Before  she  could  approach  the 
subject  of  which  she  was  full  stinging  words  had  passed 
between  them. 

"Dick,"  said  Janey,  hoarsely,  "  d'ye  mean  that  you're  goin1 
back  from  your  word — that  you  ain't  agoin'  to  marry  me  ?" 

"Marry  hell!"  said  Mr.  Oscar.     And  he  walked  off. 

"  I  want  to  speak  t'  you,"  said  Janey  that  night  to  the 
peddler.  "  Can  you  git  up  in  th'  morning  befo'  th'  folks  is 
stirrin'?" 

"  Of  course  I  can,  when  it's  to  meet  a  gal  like  you." 

Privately  he  wondered  at  her  pallor  and  lurid  eyes. 

Morning  came.  As  the  stars  were  drowsily  getting  out 
of  the  sun's  way  Janey  and  the  peddler  met  by  the  spring. 

"You  needn't  lie  to  me,"  said  she,  harshly.  "I've  found 
you  out.  You're  up  the  Cumberland  spyin'  for  wild-cat  stills. 
I'll  take  you  to  one." 

10 


144  DIALECT   TALES. 

"  But,  my  dear,  is  this  a  trap?  I'm  nothin'  but  a  poor 
harmless  peddler." 

"  Come,  then,  my  harmless  peddler,"  said  the  girl,  with  a 
sneer,  "an'  I'll  show  you  somethin'  t'  make  your  mouth  water." 

She  struck  through  the  woods,  and  he  followed,  alternately 
blessing  and  wondering  at  his  luck.  What  thread  led  her  he 
knew  not.  Fallen  logs  lay  in  the  way,  thickets  opposed, 
foliage  dense  as  the  massed  green  in  Dewing's  "  Morning " 
hid  all  signs  of  path,  but  on  she  went,  easily,  as  if  she  were 
illustrating  the  first  line  of  prepositions  in  Lindley — above, 
around,  amidst,  athwart  obstacles  of  every  kind.  And  finally, 
girdled  and  guarded  by  trees  and  rocks,  was  the  hidden  still, 
where  the  "  dull,  cold  ear  of " — corn  was  changed  into  the 
flowing  moonshine  that  maketh  glad  the  heart  of  man. 

The  peddler  could  hardly  keep  back  a  shout.  He  had 
won  his  spurs.  It  was  a  much  larger  concern  than  he  had 
expected.  Some  hogs  were  rooting  about  the  sodden  earth. 
The  monotonous  dripping  of  water  mingled  with  the  grunts 
of  these  poetic  animals. 

Janey  leaned  against  a  rock,  breathing  heavily.  The  ped 
dler  thought  he  would  about  as  soon  touch  a  wild-cat  as  to 
speak  to  her.  Nevertheless  he  did. 

"  B'long  t'  your  folks  ?"  he  said. 

"  'T  b'longs  to  Dick  Oscar,  an1  you  know  it !"  said  the  girl, 
fiercely.  "  Now  I'm  goin'  back  home." 

"You  don't  know  of  any  more  such,"  said  the  insatiate 
peddler,  "  lyin'  'round  loose  up  here? — pearls  among  swine, 
so  to  speak." 

"  I've  done  enough.     An',  look  here,  keep  your  tongue  be- 


THE  CASE  OF  ELIZA   B  LEY  LOCK. 


145 


"THE    PEDDLER    COULD    HARDLY    KEEP    BACK   A    SHOUT." 

tween  yo'  teeth.     Tell  that  /  fetched  you   here,  an'  you  won't 
see  many  more  sun-ups  with  them  spyin'  eyes." 

Mr.  Pond  was  a  tolerable  woodsman,  and  he  led  Captain 
Peters  and  his  scouts  to  the  mountain-still  without  trouble. 
They  were  all  there — the  Bleylock  boys,  the  father,  and  young 


146  DIALECT    TALES. 

Oscar.  They  were  hard  at  work,  and,  surprised,  were  hand 
cuffed  without  the  firing  of  a  gun. 

Who  so  crestfallen  as  the  toiling,  moiling  moonshiners  ? 
Who  so  jubilant  as  the  long-whiskered  captain  ?  He  would 
have  sung  a  paean  had  he  known  how.  As  it  was,  he  chewed 
a  great  deal  of  tobacco,  and  unbuttoned  his  flannel  shirt  for 
expansion. 

The  prisoners  were  halted  at  the  Bleylock  cabin  for  bag 
gage  and  good-byes.  They  were  to  be  taken  to  the  peniten 
tiary,  and  would  need  a  change  of  socks. 

Mrs.  Bleylock  and  Eliza  wept  and  moaned  their  fate ; 
but  Janey  was  still,  brown  lids  veiling  the  dull  fire  of  her 
eyes. 

"Janey,  my  girl,"  said  Oscar,  drawing  her  apart,  "I  spoke 
up  rough  to  you  t'other  day.  But  don't  you  mind  it.  'Twarn't 
nuthin'  but  jealousy." 

Her  eyes  softened.  Mountain  pinks,  as  well  as  some  fine 
ladies,  consider  jealousy  as  a  tribute  to  their  charms. 

"  Perhaps  I'll  never  come  back,"  said  he. 

She  seized  him  by  the  arm. 

"  Dick,  what  can  they  do  t'  you  ?" 

"  Dunno.  Most  likely  I'll  kill  somebody  tryin'  to  git  away, 
and  be  strung." 

Janey  burst  into  tears. 

"  Shouldn't  wonder  'f  you  married  one  o'  the  Jareds,"  he 
said,  piling  on  the  gloom. 

"  Dick  Oscar,  I  promised  to  marry  you,  an'  /  don't  go  back 
from  my  word." 

"No,  an'  I   don't!"  cried    Dick.     "There    ain't  as  pretty  a 


THE   CASE  OF  ELIZA   B  LEY  LOCK.  147 

shaped  girl   as  you   on   the   Cumberland ;   an'  if  ever  I  do  git 
back — " 

He    whispered   the    rest   in   Janey's    ear,  and  she  clung  to 
him,  blushing  a  deep,  deep  rose. 

"  'S  jest  one  thing  I  want  to  know,"  said  old  Bleylock,  as 
they  tramped  to  Nashville :  "  how  'd  you  find  us  ?" 

The  captain  laughed. 

"  Been  entertainin'  a  peddler,  haven't  you  ?  Which  one  o' 
your  gals  'd  he  make  up  to  ?" 

Father  and  brothers  swore.  Dick  Oscar  nodded  to  his 
discernment,  with  human  triumph. 

A  few  days  later  a  young  girl  walked  into  Nashville  who 
had  never  been  in  a  city  before.     She  asked  but  one  question— 
the  way  to  the  Governor's  house.     That  accessible  mansion  was 
readily  found ;  doors  were  swinging  open ;  and,  announced  by  a 
sleepy  darkey,  Janey  Bleylock  stood  in  the  Governor's  presence. 

With  a  fine  and  courteous  manner  that  gentleman  listened, 
struck  by  her  figure,  her  full  voice,  and  passionate  eyes.  He 
promised  to  use  his  influence  with  the  President  to  procure  a 
pardon  for  Dick  Oscar,  and  Janey  was  allowed  to  go  to  the 
prison  with  the  cheering  news. 

The  mountain  girl  was  heard  of  in  high  circles.  Hearts 
beat  warmly  in  lovely  Southern  bosoms,  and  they  made  a 
heroine  of  Janey. 

"  Why  don't  you  marry  here  ?"  said  a  beautiful  enthusiast, 
who  had  called  to  see  Janey,  and  kissed  her,  "  because  she 
knew  so  well  how  to  love."  "  Marry  here,  and  I'll  give  you  a 

wedding  dress." 

10* 


148  DIALECT   TALES. 

"  So  we  will,"  said  Dick  Oscar,  when  he  was  out  of  prison. 

And  Janey  went  home  a  wife,  as  if  the  stars  had  been 
diamonds,  and  strung  like  a  larkspur  chain  for  her  neck — 
father,  brothers,  husband,  sheltering  her  in  their  love. 

Mrs.  Bleylock  and  Eliza  ran  to  meet  them.  Eliza  thought 
perhaps  some  one  else  would  come  with  them.  Had  not  her 
lover  left  her  with  a  kiss  and  a  promise  to  come  back  with  a 
gold  ring? 

The  pink  ribbon  was  round  her  neck.  Her  lips  were 
parted  in  a  happy,  vacant  smile. 

The  old  chap  whose  head  looked  as  if  it  were  stuck  on 
with  a  pin  was  in  advance.  He  thrust  out  his  arm  as  Eliza 
drew  near.  "  Don't  you  speak  to  me  !" 

"  Pappy !" 

"  Damn  your  tattlin'  tongue  !     Keep  away  from  my  hands  !" 

The  smile  had  gone ;  the  vacant  look  spread  over  the  face 
that  turned  helplessly  to  her  brothers. 

"You  ought  to  be  whipped  like  a  nigger!"  said  Sam 
Bleylock.  "What  you  tell  that  peddler  'bout  Oscar's  still 
for?  Might  'a  known  he  wuz  foolin'  you." 

"  I  didn't  tell  where  the  still  wuz." 

"  Hoh !  you  lie  too."  And  her  father,  passing  by,  struck 
her  with  the  back  of  his  hand. 

"  Shame  on  you,  pappy !"  and  Janey  ran  to  her  sister,  over 
whose  lips  blood  was  pouring. 

Her  husband  drew  Janey  away.  "Don't  touch  her,"  he 
said,  with  a  look  of  disgust ;  "  she  ain't  fit." 

A  wild,  terrified  look  swept  over  Janey's  face.  Should  she 
grasp  at  the  wind  blowing  in  the  tree-tops  above  her?  She 


THE  CASE  OF  ELIZA   B  LEY  LOCK. 


149 


caught  Dick  Oscar's  arm,  holding  it  fiercely.  Here  was  some 
thing  to  clasp,  to  cling  to.  Her  soul  shrivelled  in  her  ardent 
body. 

Afterward  Eliza  Bleylock  seemed  to  wither  away.  She 
repeated  her  denial  of  having  been  a  traitor,  but  no  one  ever 
believed  her.  She  worked  hard,  and  was  used  roughly.  She 
had  never  been  strong.  Sometimes  she  stole  away  and  nursed 


SHE    LEANED    HER    HEAD    AGAINST    A   TREE." 


150  DIALECT   TALES. 

Janey's  baby,  that  seemed  to  love  her ;  but  never  when  Dick 
Oscar  was  at  home. 

One  day,  sitting  by  the  spring  alone,  too  weak  since  a  long 
while  to  work,  she  leaned  her  head  against  a  tree,  and,  with 
one  moan,  too  faint  to  startle  the  singing  birds,  she  died. 

Her  mother  and  Janey  dressed  her  cleanly,  and  tied  about 
her  neck  a  pink  ribbon  that  they  found  in  her  Bible.  And 
she  was  buried,  with  very  little  said  about  it,  in  the  valley. 


THE  BRAN  DANCE  AT   THE  APPLE  SETTLEMENT.        151 


THE    BRAN   DANCE    AT    THE    APPLE 
SETTLEMENT. 

* 

"HTHEY'S  mostly  Apples  in  that  settle^/,"  said  Mr.  Jack 
Officer.  "When  they  has  a  blow-out  they  kind  o' 
jines  together,  and  makes  the  feathers  fly.  Lucky  thing  for 
preachers  'f  they  take  a  camp-meetin'  in  han'.  They'll  have 
the  mo'ners  lively  'f  they  have  to  press  every  waggin  an'  old 
mule  in  the  Cumberland  to  git  'em  thar.  They  pretty  much 
rule  things  round  here.  'F  one  of  'em  takes  a  fancy  to  a 
good-lookin'  girl,  the  other  boys  keep  away — they  are  shooters, 
them  Apples.  Thar's  a  powerful  lot  of  'em.  Old  Grandpa 
Apple — him  that  started  the  settlement — is  a-livin'  yet.  He 
come  over  from  Carliny  some  sixty  years  back,  in  a  canopied 
waggin,  with  all  he  had,  includin'  his  gret-uncle,  ready  to  light 
out  fur  Jordan,  an'  a  yaller  dog — female,  that's  mothered  the 
best  breed  o'  pups  on  the  mountain.  He  had  two  blooded 
cows,  an'  a  stavin'  young  woman  for  a  wife ;  an'  calves  an' 
children  came  's  fast  's  he  could  house  'em — faster  too,  I  reck- 
in,  for  they  had  to  tent  it  one  hot  summer.  The  boys  they 
growed  up,  an'  they  married  aroun'  the  country,  an'  somehow 
they've  had  luck — big,  smart,  han'some  families.  An'  their  chil- 
dern  is  a-marryin'  an'  child-bearin'.  So,  you  see,  old  Grandpa 
Apple  he  sees  the  fourth  generation.  An'  I  guess  the  Lord 


152  DIALECT   TALES, 

ain't  any  pleaseder  in  surveyin'  the  earth  he  has  made  than 
that  old  man  in  a-countin'  Apple  noses. 

"  They're  goin'  to  have  a  bran  dance  to-morrer  over  in  the 
settlement.  Ever  seen  a  bran  dance  ?  'T's  a  powerful  nice 
entertainment.  Better  stop  over  an'  go  'long  with  me." 

We  "  stopped  over."  Starting  the  next  morning  by  earliest 
cock-crow,  we  reached  the  Apple  Settlement,  so  exhilarated — 
ah !  delicious  air  of  the  Cumberland ! — that  we  were  ready  to 
cut  pigeon  wings  in  a  bran  dance  until  the  bran  flew  about 
our  ears  as  dry  as  the  dust  of  a  powdered  mummy. 

The  scene  was  as  animated  as  one  of  Hogarth's  pictures. 
Horses,  mules,  ox- wagons,  spring-carts,  were  huddled  at  the 
gate.  People  were  moving  about  under  the  trees  with  the 
fantastic  gravity  that  hides  inward  joy.  Half  a  dozen  slim 
young  fellows,  in  blue  calico  shirts,  opening  to  show  their  sun 
burnt  throats,  were  masters  of  ceremonies.  They  shook  our 
hands  with  serious  cordiality,  and  nodded  silently  to  Mr.  Offi 
cer.  They  do  not  say  much,  these  mountain  people.  How 
should  they  ?  They  might  be  early-language  makers,  for  the 
few  words  they  know.  Jack  Officer  was  garrulous.  But,  as 
he  said  of  himself,  he  was  "  born  with  the  gab."  Besides,  he 
read  the  Bible  and  a  weekly  paper. 

Grandpa  Apple  was  sitting  under  a  tree  in  the  yard. 

"Looks  like  a  peeled  Apple,  he  does,"  said  Mr.  Officer, 
facetiously. 

This  startling  simile  was  not  inappropriate,  the  old  man 
was  so  white  and  clean.  His  head  was  bare,  and  shone  like 
the  snow.  A  long  white  beard  dropped  from  his  chin,  and 
white  overhanging  eyebrows  almost  hid  his  eyes.  His  face 


THE  BRAN  DANCE  AT   THE  APPLE  SETTLEMENT. 


153 


was  white  and  wrinkled  as  a  yeasty  tub  of  beer.  His  trousers 
and  shirt  were  of  white  linsey,  and  he  was  fanning  himself 
with  a  white  turkey-tail  fan.  He  would  have  served  gloriously, 
backed  up  in  a  Christmas  window,  as  Santa  Claus,  or  the  Old 
Year. 


GRANDPA   APPLE. 


In  the  heart  of  a  lovely  grove  Grandpa  Apple  had  built  his 
log-cabin.  It  was  so  comfortable-looking,  so  entirely  the  right 
sort  of  house  to  be  set  among  those  trees !  The  logs  were 
sawed  in  two,  and  were  worn  to  a  rich  polish ;  the  spaces  be 
tween  were  new  chinked  with  white  mortar.  There  were 


154  DIALECT   TALES. 

many  rooms  connected  by  little  porches  wide  as  foot-paths. 
Doors  and  windows  were  opened  wide.  The  floors  were  bare, 
and  freshly  scrubbed.  There  were  beds  in  every  room,  four 
red  posters  guarding  feather-beds  of  forty-goose  power.  Wood 
cuts  from  newspapers  and  fashion  magazines  were  gummed 
on  the  walls.  Althea  boughs  were  thrust  into  the  cavernous 
depths  of  the  wide  fireplaces,  and  in  one  room  there  was  a 
wonderful  screen  made  of  hundreds  of  little  pictures. 

The  kitchen  was  the  place  to  melt  your  soul.  A  mass  of 
coals  that  would  have  frightened  Daniel  glowed  in  the  fire 
place.  A  black  pot  hung  from  a.  crane.  Half  a  dozen  ovens 
were  ranged  on  the  hearth,  coals  under  and  above  them. 
From  time  to  time  the  oven  lids  were  lifted  with  the  burnt 
end  of  a  broom-handle,  revealing  six  little  pigs  in  various 
stages  of  brownness.  The  deities  of  this  place  were  some 
what  wizened  Apples,  so  to  speak.  They  danced  once ;  now 
they  cooked.  So  passes  the  glory  of  mountain  pinks.  They 
looked  warm,  and  a  little  anxious.  But  now  and  then  they 
would  plunge  their  heads  into  a  basin  of  cool  water,  and  come 
up,  like  Duffy  after  the  third  round,  confident  and  smiling. 

The  women  were  nearly  all  assembled  in  the  room  with 
the  screen.  They  sat  against  the  walls  solemnly.  They  were 
dressed  in  clean,  bright  calicoes,  cut  as  low  as  the  collar-bone. 
Some — vain,  dressy  creatures — wore  broad,  flat,  crocheted  col 
lars,  and  bows  shaped  like  flying  birds.  The  girls  were  sup 
ple  and  straight,  with  ankles  not  offensive  to  the  eye  of  man ; 
but  among  the  matrons  were  some  queer  figures,  whose  lacks 
or  redundancies  were  concealed  by  hoops  and  set  off  with 
trails. 


THE  BRAN  DANCE  AT   THE  APPLE  SETTLEMENT.        155 

"  Looks  's  if  them  sort  ought  to  perch  in  the  trees,"  said 
Mr.  Officer,  watching  a  green  calico  dragged  across  the  floor. 

The  young  men  glowered  in  through  the  windows,  and 
poked  each  other  in  the  sides,  making  a  noise  between  tongue 
and  cheek  not  unlike  a  prolonged  cluck  to  a  horse. 

Mr.  Officer  held  a  violin  under  his  chin.  "  Take  your  part 
ners  !"  he  called,  with  a  piercing  scrape  of  the  bow  across  the 
strings. 

"  My  fust  riddled,"  remarked  Mrs.  Officer,  "  but  not  with  the 
skill'dness  of  Mr.  Officer." 

The  young  men  came  in  and  led  out  the  girls ;  one  moun 
tain  maid — and  a  pretty  one — lingered. 

44  You  needn't  ask  me,"  she  said,  coquettishly.  "  I've  prom 
ised  to  dance  the  first  dance  with  Mr.  Tom  Jared." 

"  Should  like  to  know  why  he  don't  come,"  said  young  Jack 
Apple ;  "  'pears  's  if  he  ain't  in  a  hurry." 

At  this  instant  a  little  black  bullet  head  was  thrust  inside 
the  door,  and  an  African  voice  called,  with  a  subdued  chuckle, 

"  Mars'  Tom  say  he  done  gin  out  de  notion." 

Sensation.  Up  jumped  the  offended  fair,  and  rushed  after 
the  messenger,  who  ran  from  the  slap  to  come. 

"  She's  as  mad  as  forty  thousand  wet  hens,"  said  Mrs.  Offi 
cer,  mildly. 

And  we  thought  she  had  a  right  to  be. 

From  the  grove  sounded  the  inspiring  strain  of  "  Billy  in 
the  Low  Grounds."  We  found  the  dancers  in  a  rustic  arbor, 
roofed  with  green  boughs  intertwined  with  hickory  withes. 
Floor  there  was  none  save  the  smooth  earth  covered  three 
inches  deep  with  wheat-bran.  Slightly  dampened,  it  was  pleas- 


156 


DIALECT   TALES. 


"MARS'  TOM  SAY  HE  DONE  GIN  OUT  DE  NOTION." 

ant  to  dance  on ;  but  Heaven  preserve  them  when  they  danced 
it  dry ! 

Men  on  one  side,  women  on  the  other,  stiff  as  a  line  of 
bayonets.  It  was  a  reel  they  were  to  dance.  Jack  Officer  sat 
on  an  inverted  barrel  at  one  end  of  the  arbor. 

Down  the  middle  danced  the  leading  pair,  and,  separating 


THE  BRAN  DANCE  AT   THE  APPLE  SETTLEMENT,        157 

with  an  air  of  being  braced  for  duty,  began  their  advances  at 
opposite  ends  of  the  line.  It  was  rather  heavy.  Here  was 
their  stamping  ground,  and  they  came  down  flat-footed.  Sud 
denly  a  screech  created  a  pleasant  confusion. 

"  He  trod  on  my  foot  a-purpose,  he  did !"  cried  a  woman 
with  elfish  black  hair,  shaking  her  fist  at  a  young  fellow. 

Another  woman,  wife  or  sweetheart,  responded,  with  a  pro 
voking  drawl, 

"  What  made  yer  come  t'  a  party  bar'-footed  ?" 

"P'r'aps  I'd  have  as  good  shoes  as  you,  Jane  Oscar,  'f  my 
man  wuz  in  th'  ground-hog  whiskey  business." 


^'  •• 


THE   BRAN   DANCE. 


158  DIALECT   TALES. 

"  Come,  come  !"  interposed  a  peaceful  Apple.  "  Speaking  o' 
ground-hog,  who'll  have  a  drink  ?" 

A  blue  water-bucket,  in  which  a  tin  dipper  floated,  was 
brought  forward. 

All  took  Titanic  gulps.  There  was  a  smacking  of  lips 
such  as  would  have  done  credit  to  a  tournament  of  lovers. 

"  Ah-h !  That's  the  true  Cumberland  punch !"  cried  the 
refreshed  fiddler. 

We  tasted  the  Cumberland  punch.  It  was  not  made  on 
the  one,  two,  three  principle,  but  was  even  more  simple.  It 
was  sugarless,  lemonless,  waterless.  It  was  smoky,  strong,  and 
brought  tears  to  the  eyes.  In  short,  it  was  white  whiskey 
mixed  with  white  whiskey. 

"An'  very  strengthenin'  to  the  legs  it  is,"  said  Jack  Apple, 
pressing  its  offer. 

The  dancing  began  again  with  vigor,  with  fire  and  fury. 
The  music  sped  in  tripping  notes,  and  Mr.  Officer  added  his 
cracked  but  cheerful  voice  : 

"  Oh  !    whar  did  you  come  from  ? — 

Knock  a  nigger  down — 
Oh !   whar  did  you  come  from, 
Jerry  J//ah  Brown  ?" 

The  bran  dried  under  their  warm  feet  and  blew  up  in  little 
swirls.  The  mountain  boys  jumped  until  their  heads  knocked 
against  the  boughs  above,  and  green  leaves  whirled  through 
the  flying  dust.  Rills  of  laughter  bubbled  forth,  checked  by 
sudden  coughs.  Girls'  loosened  hair  caught  around  the  wet 
necks  of  their  partners. 


THE  BRAN  DANCE  AT   THE  APPLE  SETTLEMENT.        159 

"  Don't  you  weep  no  more,  Sister  Mary ; 
Don't  you  weep  no  more,  Brother  John," 

sang  Mr.  Officer,  kicking  his  feet  against  the  barrel ; 

"  For  Satan  is  dead,  an'  the  word  is  said 
For  to  save  you  a  heavenly  crown. 

Yes,  it  is  " — thump,  thump — 

"Yes,  it  is  " — thump,  thump — 
"  For  to  save  you  a  heavy-ix&y  crown." 

"  The  devil !"  suddenly  exclaimed  one  of  the  Bleylock  boys. 

The  dancing  stopped ;  Jack  Officer  leaped  from  the  barrel. 

"  Look  yonder  !"  said  young  Bleylock,  pointing  up  to  the 
forest  roof  of  the  arbor. 

There  darted  a  sunbeam,  here  fluttered  a  dogwood  blos 
som,  and  between  flower  and  ray  the  evil  head  of  a  snake 
wriggled  socially. 

"  Clear  out !"  cried  Mr.  Officer,  gesticulating  wildly.  In  two 
minutes  the  place  was  cleared.  The  bran  settled  slowly.  His 
snakeship  was  monarch,  but  there  was  naught  to  survey. 

jack  Apple  stepped  in,  however,  an  open  clasp-knife  in  one 
hand.  He  poured  some  whiskey  on  the  ground,  and  stooping, 
rubbed  his  other  hand  in  the  wet  earth  until  it  was  gummy 
and  black.  Whether  there  was  some  mysterious  significance 
in  this  rite,  or  he  did  it  to  secure  a  firmer  grip,  we  did  not 
know.  But  he  seized  the  snake  just  back  of  the  head,  and 
before  it  could  hiss  for  wonder  one  snake  of  the  world  had 
been  cut  in  two,  and  could  not  come  again. 

Grandpa  Apple  had  surveyed  the  scene  with  interest  and 

pride. 

11 


160 


DIALECT   TALES. 


"Purty  well  done,  Jack  —  purty  well,"  he  said.  "  'T  comes 
natural  to  the  Apples  to  hate  snakes.  D'  I  ever  tell  you  o' 
my  scrimmage  with  the  snakes  on  Council  Rock  ?" 

"  Reckon  't  '11  b'ar  tellin'  over  agin,"  said  Jack  Officer's  wife.j 
"  'Twuz  when    I   fust  settled   in  Tennessee,"  said  Grandpa 

Apple ;  "  an' 
I  built  my 
house  on  a 
rock,  like  the 
man  in  Scrip- 
ter,you  know. 
We  moved  in 
befo'  it  wuz 
finished,  an' 

the  roof  wuz  but  partly  shin 
gled.  'Twuz  coolish,  snappish 
weather,  an'  I  made  rousin'  big 
fires,  an'  warmed  the  old  rock 
up.  An'  one  mornin'  me  an'  my 
wife  an'  the  baby  (Jack's  grand 
pa)  wuz  in  bed,  an'  I  heerd  a 

'  O    J 

The    mornin'   wuz    dark,  but    I 

peered  with  young  eyes  at  the  floor,  an'  it  seemed  to  be  a-risin' 
in  curls  an'  waves  —  put  me  in  mind  o'  Cany  Fork  when 
the  wind  is  of  a  moderate  gustiness.  I  raised  on  my  elbow, 
an'  I  squinted  up  my  eyes  for  a  closer  look,  an'  I  said, 
4  Lord  o'  creation!'  —  not  that  I'm  a  swarin'  man;  but  them 
wuz  snakes !  an'  that  sight  wuz  enough  to  make  a  man  throw 


"JACK    APPLE    STEPPED    IN,   AN    OPEN    CLASP- 
KNIFE   IN   ONE    HAND." 


THE  BRAN  DANCE  AT   THE  APPLE  SETTLEMENT.         161 

rocks  at  his  grandmother.  What  a  lot  of  'em,  little  an'  big ! 
-'s  many's  there  are  Apples  here  to-day.  Maybe  'twuz  kind 
o'  prophetic.  Well,  I  woke  Nancy,  an'  told  her  to  roll  up 
head,  ears,  an'  baby  (Jack's  grandpa)  in  the  blankets;  an'  I 
crawled  up  the  bed -post  an'  out  through  that  blessed  hole  in 
the  roof.  Fortunate  I  had  a  neighbor  with  a  family  o'  boys, 
an'  we  got  on  boots,  an'  with  rifles  an'  whips  we  went  in  for 
the  biggest  snake-fight  ever  seen  this  side  o'  Jordan.  You  see, 
thar  nests  wuz  under  the  rock,  an'  my  fires  had  made  it  warm 
for  'em,  an'  they  had  come  a-corkscrewin'  out  o'  thar  winter 
quarters.  Tell  you  we  slayed  an'  we  slew !  The  old  woman 
she  stayed  kivered  up,  ekally  afeard',  she  said,  o'  men  an' 
snakes,  we  got  so  bloody  an'  fierce  to  kill.  I  do  s'pose  we 
killed  a  million  o'  them  rattlers — they  wuz  all  rattlers." 

"Oh!  oho!  Mr.  Apple,"  said  Jack  Officer;  "them  figgers 
is  too  high.  'F  you  killed  one  thousand  a  day,  'twould  take 
you  a  matter  o'  twenty  years  to  git  shet  of  a  million." 

"  Now,  look  at  that !"  said  the  old  man,  admiringly ;  and, 
"Mr.  Officer's  a  powerful  smart  man  —  powerful,"  said  Jack's 
wife. 

It  was  now  noon,  and  dinner  was  served  in  the  grove. 
The  table  was  made  of  pine  boards  stretched  across  chair 
backs.  It  was  crowded  with  savory  dishes,  and  as  for  the 
dear  little  pigs,  never  were  pigs  so  good  since  the  first  that 
it  took  the  burning  of  a  hut  to  roast. 

After  dinner  the  dance  began  again,  but  we  were  tired  and 
spent  with  laughter.  We  sought  a  far-off  tree,  and,  gazed  upon 
admiringly  by  three  small  Apples,  slept  until  the  bran  dance 
was  over. 


162  DIALECT   TALES. 


LAME  JERRY. 

her  baby  at  her  breast,  Jane  Oscar  strolled  through 
the  woods  one  summer  morning.  There  were  memories 
in  this  young  woman's  life  that  sometimes  violently  agitated 
her  heart,  and  at  such  times  nothing  pleased  her  more  than  to 
plunge  into  wild  depths  of  the  forest,  and  forget  in  physical 
fatigue  the  pain  it  angered  her  to  feel.  As  she  stepped  on, 
fleet  of  foot,  with  down-dropped  eyes,  and  arms  tight  as  steel 
around  her  child,  she  was  startled  by  a  weakly- uttered  curse, 
loosed  apparently,  like  a  poisonous  odor,  from  the  ground. 
Pressing  on,  flung  among  a  heap  of  weeds  beside  a  fallen 
tree,  she  saw  a  coiled,  misshapen  figure.  An  ugly,  contorted 
face  lay,  with  closed  eyes,  in  a  piercing  sun-ray.  It  had,  prob 
ably,  been  the  sun-ray  that  he  had  cursed. 

"  Lame  Jerry !" 

"Jane! — is  that  Jane  Oscar?" 

"Yes.     What's  the  matter?" 

"They've  done  for  me,  I'm  afeard,  Jane." 

"  Who  ?  what  ?  in  pity's  name." 

"  Them  wild-cat  devils  who  helped  t'  run  Welch's  still." 

"  You  told  on  'em  to  Peters  ?"  in  a  loud,  frightened  whisper. 

"Yes,  d — n  them!     And  they've  killed  me  for  it." 

"  Mebbe  not,  Jerry.  I'll  go  for  Dick,  an'  we'll  do  all  we  kin 
for  you." 


LAME   JERRY. 

Then,  with  a  woman's  impulse,  she  took  off  her  cotton 
dress  waist  and  hung  it  on  a  bush  in  a  way  to  shield  Lame 
Jerry's  eyes  from  the  sun;  and  hiding  her  neck  and  her  bare 
breast  with  her  hair  and  the  soft  baby  form,  she  hurried 
home. 

"  It  wuz  wrong  in  the  boys — all  wrong,"  said  Dick  Oscar, 
when  Jane  had  told  him  how  she  had  found  Lame  Jerry  half 
dead  in  the  woods. 

• 

"  Yes,  it  wuz  wrong,"  said  Jane,  hotly,  "  an'  cruel,  too,  to 
treat  a  man  so,  just  for  bein'  on  the  side  o'  the  law." 

"  Yes ;  they  ought  to  'a  killed  him  outright,"  said  Mr.  Oscar, 
thoughtfully. 

"  Dick  !  you  don't  mean  it  ?" 

"  Come,  come,  my  girl,  you've  got  a  soft  spot  in  yo'  heart 
fur  sneaks,  on  account  o'  yo'  sister ;  but  you  can't  expect  me  to 
stomach  'em." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Jane,  in  a  dull,  low  tone ;  "  but  you'll  be 
kind  to  Jerry,  won't  you  ?" 

"  Lord !  yes,  Why  not  ?  But  if  he  gits  up  agin,  poor  old 
devil !  I  guess  he'll  wish  we'd  'a  left  him  whar  we  found  him." 

"  That  ain't  our  look-out." 

They  brought  him  to  their  cabin,  and  nursed  him,  rudely, 
but  with  skill  enough  to  bring  him  through  the  fever  that  set 

in  from  his  inflamed  wounds. 

t 

In  his  raving  he  called  continually  for  his  daughter. 

"  Cordy !  Cordy !  Cordy !"  repeated  in  tones  that  rang,  or 
moaned,  or  prayed ;  but  no  woman  bent  over  him  save  brown- 
eyed  Jane  Oscar,  and  faithfully  she  tended  him,  while  the  baby 
screamed  from  its  cradle  in  fright  at  the  strange,  rough  voice. 


164  DIALECT   TALES. 

A  conscious  day  came,  and  he  called  to  Jane,  "  Does  Cordy 
know  ?" 

He  looked  so  pitiful  lying  there,  a  stunted,  humpbacked 
figure,  his  eyes  big  in  his  gaunt  face,  his  hair  white  —  an  old 
man  hated  by  the  mountain  people  among  whom  he  lived, 
shaken  by  nameless  fears  for  the  one  thing  that  he  loved. 

"I  ain't  been  able  to  git  word  ter  Cordy,"  said  Jane  Oscar. 

"  D'ye  know  how  she's  got  on,  all  alone  there,  the  poor 
child  ?  She  wuz  always  one  to  be  frightened  at  shadows  and 


noises." 


Jane  said  nothing. 

"Why  don't  you  speak,  Jane  Oscar?" 

"  You're  mighty  weak,  Jerry.  I  don't  want  you  to  have  no 
set-back." 

"An'  what  could  you  tell  me,  woman,  to  give  me  a  set 
back  ?" 

Jane  put  her  lips  together,  and,  taking  up  her  baby,  gave 
it  the  breast. 

"Might  's  well  tell  him,  Janey,"  said  Dick  Oscar;  "it's  got 
to  come." 

"  Tell  him  yourself,  then." 

Lame  Jerry's  eyes  glared  at  the  two — the  stolid  beings  who 
were  hiding  some  awful  secret  from  him — one  smoking  a  cob 
pipe,  the  other  suckling  her  child,  removed  remote  from  his 
terrible  suffering  as  heaven  from  hell. 

"  Whar's  my  daughter  ?" 

"  Well,  old  man,"  said  Dick  Oscar,  "  she's  gone  with 
Discoe." 

"  Are  they  married  ?" 


LAME    JERRY.  165 

"Not  as  I's  heerd  tell." 

"  Oh  God  !  God  !  God  !" 

"  Come,  Jerry,  don't  take  it  so  hard.     He'll  treat  her  kind." 

"  Treat  her  kind !  I  hope  he'll  kill  her!  Oh,  my  lost  girl! 
my  little  lost  Cordy !" 

"I'm  powerful  sorry  for  you,  Jerry,"  said  Jane,  shifting  her 
baby  comfortably  from  one  arm  to  the  other. 

"  Keep  yo'  sorrow  till  it's  asked  for." 

"You  know  he  may  marry  her,"  said  Dick,  putting  a  fresh 
coal  in  his  pipe,  "  if  she's  pleasant  to  him ;  he's  a  nice  man, 
Discoe  is." 

"  A  d — d  whiskey-drinking  devil !" 

"  He's  got  his  faults,  but  they're  the  faults  of  a  man"  said 
Mr.  Oscar,  impartially;  "and  he  ain't  a  tattlin'  sneak." 

Lame  Jerry  turned  his  face  to  the  wall  and  groaned. 

From  that  time  he  seemed  to  get  well  with  a  sort  of  fury. 
He  rarely  spoke,  never  smiled,  and  Jane  could  only  guess  at 
the  thoughts  that  fixed  on  his  rugged  features  the  expression 
of  a  demon.  He  said  little  to  her  about  having  saved  his 
life,  but  on  leaving  he  flung  into  the  baby's  lap  a  purse  of 
money. 

"What's  that?"  cried  Dick  Oscar.  He  snatched  the  child 
up,  and  the  purse  fell  to  the  floor.  He  kicked  it  toward  Lame 
Jerry.  "We  don't  want  none  of  the  money  you  wuz  bought 
with,"  said  the  stern  husband  of  Janey  Bleylock. 

Lame  Jerry  did  not  go  back  to  his  now  hateful  home,  but 
lived  on  the  mountain  as  simply  as  a  wild  beast,  hiding  from 
men,  indifferent  to  all  things  save  the  set  purpose  of  his  life. 
It  was  known  to  but  few  that  he  had  survived  the  moon- 


166  DIALECT   TALES, 

shiners'  attempt  to  kill  him.  Jane  and  Dick  Oscar  were 
silent  people,  and  news  travelled  slowly  in  that  mountain 
country. 

Lame  Jerry  lay  in  wait  for  Discoe,  and  saw  him  continually 
as  he  lounged  about  his  occupations — hunting,  fishing,  hoeing 
his  little  patch  of  ground,  riding  down  the  mountain  to  join 
the  boys  in  a  frolic.  But  he  never  shadowed  Cordy 's  lover  as 
far  as  his  cabin  door.  He  would  not  see  his  child  until — 

The  day  came  at  last.  Discoe  was  cleaning  his  gun  in  the 
woods,  unarmed,  inert,  unsuspicious.  Behind  him,  huge  and 
misshapen,  the  hunchback  crawled  and  coiled  and  sprung. 
There  was  little  resistance  —  the  surprise  was  too  complete 
— and  Lame  Jerry's  arm  was  nerved  by  hate  and  madness. 
When  Discoe  was  dead  the  murderer  dragged  his  body  to 
Caney  Fork,  and  weighting  it  with  rocks,  saw  it  sink  beneath 
the  hiding  waves.  Then  he  went  to  his  daughter. 

"  Cordy !" 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice,  and  at  sight  of  him,  the  girl 
fell,  screaming.  She  fully  believed  her  father  dead,  and  being 
slow  of  wit,  now  conceived  that  his  ghost  stood  in  her  door 
way. 

"  Don't  you  know  your  father,  Cordy  ?" 

"You  are  his  spirit." 

"  No,  I  am  flesh,  my  girl.     Come  to  me." 

"  You  were  killed  by  Welch's  boys." 

"  I  wuz  hurt,  but  I  got  well." 

Still,  incredulity  and  fear  were  in  the  girl's  big  wandering 
blue  eyes.  "  If  you  ain't  a  ghost,"  said  she,  timidly,  "  taste  my 
soup  on  the  fire." 


LAME   JERRY.  107 

"  No,  my  girl.     I  won't  taste  Discoe's  soup.     But  look  here." 

He  threw  himself  on  the  high,  soft  feather-bed,  and  rising, 
pointed  to  the  impress  of  his  form.  She  came  forward,  her 
hands  outstretched,  like  one  who  is  blind.  He  seized  them, 
and  gazed  into  her  face.  Yes,  it  was  the  same  white,  fragile 
Cordy,  not  altered  by  a  line  or  a  trace  of  thought.  The  same 
wide,  simple  blue  eyes ;  the  same  weak,  red  baby  mouth ;  the 
light  hair  falling  in  a  smooth  plait;  the  skin  clear  and  color 
less.  But  was  his  gaze  distracted  that  he  fancied  a  change 
in  the  slim  girl's  figure? 

"  Cordy !  Cordy !"  He  clasped  her  in  his  arms,  and  she 
wept.  But  before  he  kissed  her  he  wiped  her  face  fiercely, 
as  though  rubbing  off  a  stain.  "  And  so,  my  girl,"  he  said, 
gently,  after  they  had  talked  a  long  while,  "  you  didn't  think 
you  wuz  doin'  anything  wrong  to  take  up  with  Discoe  —  and 
no  preacher  to  make  it  honest  ?" 

She  twisted  her  fingers  nervously.  "  I  didn't  know  what 
to  do.  They  said  you  wuz  dead.  An'  Discoe  said  he'd  like 
to  have  me.  An'  he's  a  nice,  well-made  man.  An'  I  wuz  so 
dull  with  fright  an'  grief  that  I  didn't  much  care.  But  I  care 
now.  An'  he's  goin'  to  marry  me,  pappy,  when — when  the 
baby  comes." 

"  He's  a  black-hearted  devil." 

"  No,  pappy,  no.  You  don't  know  him  's  I  do.  He's  been 
powerful  good  to  me." 

Lame  Jerry  sat  long  in  Discoe's  cabin,  affecting  not  to  see 
Cordy 's  restless  glances  down  the  mountain  path. 

"  I'll  go  now,"  he  said,  "  'nless  you  like  t'  have  me  stop  with 
you  to-night,  Cordy." 


1(38  DIALECT   TALES. 

"  Better  not,  pappy.  Discoe  mightn't  like  it.  But  I'll  tell 
him  about  you  when  he  comes  home,  an'  to-morrer  you  come 
t1  see  him." 

Her  father  came  with  the  morrow,  to  find  Cordy  but  slight 
ly  annoyed  at  Discoe's  non-appearance.  "I  reckon  he's  off 
somewhere  with  the  boys,"  she  said ;  "  I  ain't  no  call  to 
fret." 

Days  passed;  weeks  dragged  along.  Lame  Jerry  spent  all 
his  time  now  in  Discoe's  cabin,  but  Cordy  rarely  spoke  to  him. 
All  her  soul  was  absorbed  in  watching  and  waiting.  Her  hear 
ing  grew  to  be  so  finely  attuned  that  she  heard  all  strange 
sounds  of  nature  that  hide  from  dull  ears ;  but  never  the 
sound  for  which  she  waited. 

"  Cordy,"  said  her  father  one  day,  "  it's  lonely  here." 

k'  Not  for  me,  pappy.  I  have  to  keep  things  ready  for 
Discoe." 

"  He  won't  come,  girl." 

Cordy  smiled — that  dim,  vacant  smile  that  Jerry  was  learn 
ing  to  dread. 

"  Come  with  me,  honey ;  let  us  go  away." 

"  I  must  wait  here,  pappy." 

"  You  don't  feel  as  if  you  could  give  him  up,  my  girl,  for 
me  as  loves  you  so  much,  much  more?" 

And  Cordy  answered,  very  simply,  "  How  can  I  give  him 
up,  pappy  ? — he's  my  man,  you  know." 

Again  he  said  to  her,  "You  didn't  know  I  had  money, 
Cordy,  in  the  bank  at  Nashville  ?" 

u  No,  pappy." 

"  I've  always  kept  you  different  from  others,"  said  the  old 


LAME    JERRY.  169 

man.  "  I  meant  to  leave  the  mountains  with  you  when  there 
wuz  money  enough  for  us  to  be  free.  But  I  had  to  hurry. 
You  remember  the  day  you  wuz  fifteen  ?" 

"  Yes,  pappy,"  she  said,  vacantly.  • 

"  You  had  been  strange  an'  ailin'  a  long  time,  and  that  day 
you  fell  down  in  a  fit.  I  knowed  then  I  must  hurry  an'  git 
you  to  the  city,  whar  a  doctor  could  cure  you.  That  wasn't 
more'n  a  year  ago.  You're  only  a  child  now,  Cordy." 

"  Yes,  pappy." 

"It  wuz  slow  work  makin'  money,  so  I  engaged  as  a  spy  to 
Peters ;  he  paid  well,  or  Government  paid  through  him.  It 
wuz  for  you,  Cordy — for  you." 

"'Twuzn't  right,  pappy.     Discoe  didn't  think  it  wuz  right." 

"  Honey,  have  you  had  any  of  them  fits  since  you  came 
here  to  live  with  Discoe  ?" 

"  One,  pappy.     Sometimes  I  think  that's  why  he  left  me." 

"  Then  you  ought  to  hate  him.  Give  up  the  thoughts  of 
him,  child,  an'  come  with  me  to  Nashville.  It'll  be  pleasant. 
We'll  have  a  pretty  little  house,  not  a  rough  log-cabin.  An' 
I'll  hire  a  woman  to  do  all  the  work.  You  sha'n't  soil  your 
little  hands,  my  girl ;  and  I'll  buy  you  ribbons  and  such  gowns 
as  city  girls  wear — blue  and  pink.  An'  I'll  get  a  buggy  an' 
take  you  drivin'  every  day  like  a  lady.  Won't  you  come,  my 
girl?" 

"  No,  pappy ;  I  have  to  stay  here.  My  man  will  be  back 
soon,  an'  he'll  want  Cordy." 

And  to  every  attack  or  entreaty  Cordy  returned  the  same 
unmoved  answer.  Once  he  threatened  her.  But  at  his  tone 
of  force  and  rough  authority  she  fell  in  the  dreadful  convul- 


170  DIALECT   TALES. 

sions  that  maddened  him  and  shook  her  reason.  After  that 
he  was  always  gentle  with  her. 

One  day  a  travelling  preacher  stopped  at  the  cabin  and 
asked  to  stay  all  night.  When  Cordy  learned  who  he  was  an 
unwonted  excitement  took  possession  of  her. 

She  called  her  father  apart. 

"  Discoe  said  he'd  marry  me  the  first  time  a  preacher  come 
this  way,"  she  whispered,  her  light  eyes  shining.  "  PYaps  he 
has  sent  this  one." 

"  No,  no,  my  girl ;  don't  think  it." 

"  But  I  will  think  it,"  she  said,  shrilly,  and  springing  toward 
the  stranger.  "  Mister,  did  my  man  send  you  ?  and  will  he 
come  after  you  soon  ?" 

The  stranger  stared. 

"  Don't  mind  her,"  said  Lame  Jerry,  roughly.  "  Her  man 
left  her,  and  she  ain't  been  right  in  her  wits  since." 

Looking  from  one  to  the  other,  Cordy  burst  into  a  low 
laugh. 

"  I  see ;  Discoe  wants  to  surprise  me.  But  never  mind ; 
I'll  be  ready." 

As  the  sun  went  down  she  dressed  herself  in  a  white  dress, 
and  braided  her  smooth,  thick  hair.  Then,  with  a  smile,  she 
sat  watching  by  the  window.  Ah !  it  was  a  sight  for  God  to 
pity !  The  young,  un rested  head,  the  eagerness  of  the  sharp 
ened  face,  and,  defined  against  the  rough  walls,  the  most  pa 
thetic  shape  of  one  soon  to  become  a  mother,  with  Shame 
and  Despair  for  her  furious  handmaidens. 

After  this  her  father  hoped  no  more.      A  little  later,  in  a 


LAME    JERRY.  171 

driving  storm,  he  plunged  down  the  mountain  to  find  Jane 
Oscar  and  bring  her  to  his  child.  At  the  wild  midnight 
hour  a  babe  was  laid  on  Cordy's  piteous  young  breast — both 
breathed  faintly  until  the  rising  of  the  sun,  when  their  souls 
went  out  together.  And  Lame  Jerry  was  left  to  live  with  his 
money — and  his  memories. 


172  DIALECT   TALES. 


JACK  AND  THE  MOUNTAIN  PINK. 

\/OUNG  SELDEN  was  bored.  Who  was  not  bored  among 
the  men  ?  It  was  the  tense  summer  of  '78.  A  forlorn 
band  of  refugees  from  the  plague  crowded  a  Nashville  hotel. 
There  was  nothing  for  the  men  to  do  but  to  read  the  fever 
bulletins,  play  billiards  in  an  insensate  sort  of  way,  and  keep 
out  of  the  way  of  the  women  crying  over  the  papers. 

Young  Selden  felt  that  another  month  of  this  sort  of  thing 
would  leave  him  melancholy  mad.  So  he  jammed  some  things 
into  a  light  bag  and  started  off  for  a  tramp  over  Cumberland 
Mountain. 

"  I  envy  you,"  said  a  decrepit  old  gentleman,  with  whom  he 
was  shaking  hands  in  good-bye.  "  I  was  brought  up  in  the 
mountain  country  fifty  years  ago.  Gay  young  buck  I  was !  Go 
in,  my  boy,  and  make  love  to  a  mountain  pink !  Ah,  those 
jolly,  barefooted,  melting  girls !  No  corsets,  no  back  hair,  no 
bangs,  by  Heaven !" 

It  was  the  afternoon  of  a  hot  September  day.  Young 
Selden  had  started  that  morning  from  Bloomington  Springs 
in  the  direction  of  the  Window  Cliff — a  ridge  of  rocks  from 
which  he  had  been  told  a  very  fine  view  could  be  obtained. 
The  road  grew  rougher  and  wilder,  seeming  to  lose  itself  in 
hills,  stumps,  and  fields,  and  was  as  hard  to  trace  out  as  a 


JACK  AND    THE  MOUNTAIN  PINK. 


173 


Bazar  pattern.  He  finally  struck  a  foot-path  leading  to  a  log- 
cabin,  where  a  very  brown  woman  sat  peacefully  smoking  in 
the  door-way. 

"  Good-day,"  he  said,  taking  off  his  hat. 


"'GOOD-DAY,'  HE  SAID,  TAKING  OFF  HIS  HAT. 


The  brown  woman  nodded  in  a  friendly  manner — the  little 
short,  meaning  nod  of  the  mountains,  that  serves,  so  to  speak, 
as  the  pro-word  of  these  silent  folk.  Young  Selden  inquired 
the  way  to  Window  Cliff. 

"  You  carn't  git  thar  's  the  crow  flies,"  she  drawled,  slowly ; 
"  but  I  reckin  my  daughter  k'n  g'long  with  yer." 

"  Aha !"  thought  Selden — "  a  mountain  pink  !" 


174  DIALECT   TALES. 

"  Take  a  cheer,"  said  the  mother,  rising  and  going  within. 
He  seated  himself  on  the  steps,  and  made  friends  with  a  dog 
or  two. 

A  young  girl  soon  appeared,  tying  on  a  sun-bonnet.  She 
greeted  him  with  a  nod,  the  reproduction  of  her  mother's,  and 
drawled,  in  the  same  tone,  "  Reckin  you  couldn't  git  tu  Winder 
Clift  'thout  somebody  to  show  you  the  way." 

"  And  you  will  be  my  guide  ?" 

"T  co'se." 

They  started  off,  young  Selden  talking  airily.  He  soon  felt, 
however,  that  he  shouldn't  make  love  to  this  mountain  pink. 
To  begin  with,  there  was  no  pink  about  her.  She  was  brown, 
like  her  mother. 

"  Coffee !"  thought  Selden,  with  a  grim  remembrance  of  a 
black,  muddy  liquid  he  had  drunk  a  few  nights  before  at  a  log- 
cabin,  over  which  the  very  babies  smacked  their  lips. 

Her  eyes  had  the  melancholy  of  a  cow's,  without  the  rumi 
native  expression  that  gives  sufficient  intellectuality  to  a  cow's 
sad  gaze.  To  put  it  tersely,  they  looked  stupid.  Her  mouth 
curled  down  a  little  at  each  corner.  Her  hair  was  not  visible 
under  her  pea-green  sun-bonnet.  Her  dress  of  whitish  linsey 
was  skimpy  in  its  cut,  and  she  wriggled  in  it  as  if  it  were  a 
loose  skin  she  was  trying  to  get  out  of. 

She  was  not  a  talker.  She  looked  at  Selden  with  big  eyes, 
and  listened  impassively.  He  elicited  from  her  that  her  name 
was  Sincerity  Hicks ;  that  her  mother  was  the  widder  Hicks, 
and  there  were  no  others  in  the  family ;  that  she  had  never 
been  to  school,  but  could  read,  only  she  had  no  books. 

"  Should  you  like  some  ?" 


JACK  AND    THE  MOUNTAIN  PINK.  175 

"  Dunno.  Tears  's  if  thar's  too  much  to  do  t'  fool  over 
books." 

Perhaps  because  he  had  talked  so  much  young  Selden 
began  to  get  out  of  breath.  They  had  crossed  a  field,  climbed 
a  fence,  and  were  descending  a  great  hill,  breaking  a  path  as 
they  walked.  He  panted,  and  could  hardly  keep  up  with  Sin 
cerity,  though  she  seemed  not  to  walk  fast.  But  she  got  over 
the  ground  with  a  light-footed  agility  that  aroused  his  envy. 
It  looked  easy,  but,  since  he  could  not  emulate  her,  he  con 
cluded  that  long  practice  had  trained  her  walk  to  its  perfection. 
He  noticed,  too,  that  she  walked  "  parrot-footed,"  placing  each 
new  track  in  the  impression  of  the  other.  Imitating  this, 
awkwardly  enough,  he  got  on  better. 

Reaching  the  clear  level  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  he  saw 
at  a  glance  that  he  had  penetrated  to  a  wild  and  virginal  heart 
of  beauty.  Like  a  rough  water-fall  melting  into  a  silver-flow 
ing  river,  the  vexatious  and  shaggy  hill  sloped  to  a  dreaming 
valley.  Streams  ran  about,  quietly  as  thoughts,  over  pale 
rocks.  Calacanthus  bushes,  speckled  with  their  ugly  little  red 
blooms,  filled  the  air  with  a  fragrance  like  that  of  crushed 
strawberries.  Upspringing  from  this  low  level  of  prettiness 
rose  the  glory  of  the  valley — the  lordly,  the  magnificent  birch- 
trees.  Their  topmost  boughs  brushed  against  the  cliffs  that 
shut  in  the  valley  on  the  opposite  side.  How  fine  these  cliffs 
were !  They  rose  up  almost  perpendicularly,  and,  freed  half 
way  of  their  height  from  the  thick  growth  of  underbrush,  stood 
out  in  bare,  bold  picturesqueness.  Window  Cliffs !  Aha !  these 
were  the  windows.  Two  wide  spaces,  square  and  clean-blown, 
framing  always  a  picture — now  a  bit  of  hard  blue  sky ;  other 

12 


176  DIALECT   TALES. 

times  pink  flushes  of  sunrise,  or  the  voluptuous  moon  and 
peeping  eyes  of  stars. 

"  Want  ter  go  t'  the  top  ?"  inquired  Sincerity. 

"  I — dunno,"  rejoined  Selden,  lazily.  Truth  was,  he  did  not 
wish  to  move.  He  liked  the  vast  shadows,  the  cool  deeps,  the 
singing  tones  of  the  valley.  Then  he  was  sure  he  had  a  blister 
on  his  heel.  Still,  to  come  so  far —  "  How  long  a  walk  is  it?" 

"  Oh,  jest  a  little  piece — 'bout  a  quarter." 

"  Up  and  away,  then  !"  cried  young  Selden. 

A  long  "  quarter "  he  found  that  walk.  They  crossed  the 
valley,  climbed  a  fence,  and  dropped  into  a  corn-field  to  be 
hobbled  over.  Up  and  down  those  hideous  little  furrows — it 
was  as  sickening  as  tossing  on  a  chopping  sea.  Selden  stop 
ped  to  rest.  Sincerity,  not  a  feather  the  worse,  looked  him 
over  with  mild  patience. 

"  Lemme  tote  yo'  haversack,"  she  said. 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  young  man,  with  an  honest  blush.  But 
he  was  reminded  of  a  flask  of  brandy  in  his  knapsack,  of  which 
he  took  a  grateful  swig. 

"Now,"  said  his  guide,  as,  the  corn-field  crossed,  they 
emerged  into  forest — "  now  we  begins  to  climb  the  mountain." 

Selden  groaned.  He  had  thought  himself  nearly  on  a 
level  with  the  Window  Cliff.  To  this  day  that  climb  is  an 
excruciating  memory  to  young  Selden.  He  thought  of 

"Johnny  Schnapps, 
Who  bust  his  shtraps," 

and  wondered  if  the  disaster  was  not  suffered  in  going  up  a 
mountain.  He  felt  himself  melting  away  with  heat.  He  knew 


JACK  AND    THE  MOUNTAIN  PINK.  177 

that  his  face  was  blazing  like  a  Christmas  pudding,  and  drip 
ping  like  a  roast  on  a  spit.  He  resigned  the  attempt  to  keep 
up  with  Sincerity.  When  they  started  on  this  excruciating 
tramp  the  droop  of  her  pea-green  sun-bonnet  had  seemed  to 
him  abject ;  now  he  knew  that  it  expressed  only  contempt- 
contempt  for  the  weakling  and  the  stranger. 

But  one  gets  to  the  top  of  most  things  by  trying  hard 
enough,  and  they  gained  at  last  the  rough  crags  that  com 
manded  the  valley. 

Ah !  the  fair,  grand  State !  There  was  a  spot  for  a  blind 
man  to  receive  sight !  The  young  man  drew  a  long  breath  as 
he  gazed  over  the  bewitching  expanse.  All  so  fresh,  so  un- 
breathed-on,  the  only  hints  of  human  life  the  little  log-cabins 
perched  about,  harmonious  as  birds'  nests  amid  their  surround 
ings. 

Sincerity  Hicks  stood  fanning  herself  with  the  green  sun- 
bonnet.  There  was  something  pretty  about  her,  now  that  this 
disfigurement  was  removed.  But  a  mountain  pink — what  a 
pretty  implication  in  the  name ! — no. 

"So  this  is  Window  Cliff?"  he  said.  "And  is  there  any 
particular  name  for  that  ledge  yonder?" 

"  'Tis  called  Devil's  Chimney,  'nd  the  cut  between  is  Long 
Hungry  Gap." 

"Long  Hungry  Gap? — where  have  I  heard  that  famished 
name  ?  Oh  yes,  some  of  Peters's  scouts.  You  know  Peters  ?" 

"  Yaas,  I've  heerd  tell  o'  Jim  Peters." 

Sincerity's  drawl  was  not  quickened,  but  Selden  was  sur 
prised  to  see  a  light  leap  into  her  eyes  as  suddenly  as  a  witch 
through  a  key-hole. 


178  DIALECT   TALES. 

"These  fellows  had  a  room  next  to  mine  at  the  Blooming- 
ton  Hotel,"  Selden  went  on,  "  and  the  walls  are  like  paper ;  so 
I  heard  all  they  said." 

"And  what  d'  they  say?" 

"Well,  that  the  captain  was  up  the  country  on  a  moon 
shine  raid;  but  that  they  were  on  the  track  of  something 
better — had  heard  of  a  '  powerful  big  still '  up  in  Long  Hungry 
Gap — and  would  mash  it  up  as  soon  as  the  captain  got  back." 

"  D'  they  say  when  Peters  wuz  expected  ?" 

"  The  next  day." 

Sincerity  tied  on  her  bonnet- 

"  Guess  you  kin  find  the  way  back,"  she  remarked. 

".Hello!  what  does  this  mean?" 

"  I've  got  somethin'  t'  attend  to  across  the  mounting." 

"  I'll  go  with  you." 

Sincerity  stopped  and  turned  a  serious  face.  "  Likely  's 
not  you'll  git  hurt." 

"  Oho !  I'm  in,  if  there's  any  chance  of  a  scrimmage.  Go 
ahead." 

She  did  go  ahead.  If  the  path  had  been  vexatious  before, 
now  it  was  revengeful  and  aggressive.  In  fact,  there  was  no 
path.  But  Sincerity,  like  love,  found  out  a  way.  Suddenly, 
like  a  comic  mask  popped  on  a  friend's  face,  something  sinis 
ter  and  strange  burst  upon  them  through  the  familiar  woods. 
Or,  rather,  they  burst  upon  it — a  wild-cat  still,  securely  shel 
tered  under  an  innocent  combination  of  rocks,  ferns,  and  mag 
nolia-trees. 

Four  or  five  wild-looking  fellows  sprang  up,  their  hands  on 
their  rifles. 


JACK  AND    THE  MOUNTAIN  PINK. 


179 


"  '  NONE  o'  YO'  SHOOTIN','  SAID  SINCERITY." 

"  None  o'  yo'  shootin',"  said  Sincerity  Hicks  ;  "  he's  a  friend." 

"  Sho'  he  ain't  a  spy  ?  'Cause  if  that's  the  case,  mister, 
you'll  stay  in  these  woods  face  down." 

"  My  impetuous  moonshiner,  I  don't  call  myself  the  friend 
of  you  law-breakers,  but  I'm  no  spy.  I  brought  the  news  to 
the  faithful  Sincerity  of  Captain  Peters  being  on  your  track." 

Hurried  questions  were  asked  and  answered.  Several  res 
olute  voices  suggested  to  fight  it  out,  but  all  seemed  to  await 
,  the  decision  of  an  old  man  they  called  Jack,  who  leaned 


180  DIALECT   TALES. 

against  a  tub,  with  a  touching  expression  of  meekness  under 
unmerited  ill-luck. 

"  No,  boys,"  he  said ;  "  we  ain't  strong  enough.  But  we'll 
run  off  what  we  can.  Save  the  copper — we'll  never  git  an 
other  so  big  an'  satisfactory — an'  the  mash  tun,  an'  as  many 
of  the  tubs  's  you  can  git  off." 

It  was  a  transformation  scene.  Things  seemed  to  fly  to 
pieces  all  at  once,  like  a  bomb-shell.  The  great  copper  still 
was  hoisted  on  the  shoulders  of  two  or  three  men ;  the  worm, 
the  mash  tun,  the  coolers,  were  taken  down  with  celerity,  and 
the  unlucky  moonshiners  made  off  through  the  woods. 

"  Reckin  th'  rest  '11  have  ter  go,"  said  Jack,  pensively ;  "  but 
tell  you  what,  Sincerity  Hicks,  seems  's  if  I  couldn't  b'ar  to 
have  'em  git  th'  old  sow  an'  her  pigs." 

"  Run  'em  off." 

"  They're  too  young,  honey.     Come  'ere." 

He  led  to  a  mimosa-tree  behind  a  rock ;  and  under  its  sen 
sitive  shade  reposed,  like  Father  Nile,  a  portly  porcine  mother, 
overrun  with  little,  pink,  blind  pigs. 

"  Ain't  you  got  a  spar'  tub  ?"  asked  the  girl. 

His  face  lighted.    "  I  catches,"  he  said,  gently. 

He  brought  an  empty  whiskey  puncheon,  and  covered  the 
bottom  with  straw.  Then  he  lifted  the  pink  pigs  into  it,  assist 
ed  by  Sincerity  and  the  elegant  Selden. 

The  mother  squealed.  "Stuff  her  mouth,"  ordered  the  old 
man. 

Sincerity  thrust  an  ear  of  corn  into  the  open  jaws. 

"Now,"  said  Jack,  "I'll  run  briefly  through  the  woods, 
a-toting  this,  an'  the  old  sow  she'll  follow — ' 


JACK  AND    THE  MOUNTAIN  PINK. 


181 


"NO,  YOU  DON'T,  JACK  BODDY!" 

"  No,  you  don't,  Jack  Boddy  !"  said  a  quiet  voice.  "  Smell  o' 
that." 

The  ugly  end  of  a  rifle  protruded  itself.  A  Tennessee 
giant  leaned  against  the  rock.  Peters  ?  Of  course  it  was 
Peters.  What  other  man  had  that  easy  swagger,  three  feet 
of  black  beard,  and  as  wide  a  grin  in  saying  checkmate? 


182  DIALECT  TALES. 

Jack  Boddy  smiled  innocently. 

"  Why,  captain,  you  see  me  jest  attendin'  to  a  litter  o'  pigs 


o'  mine." 


"  Yes,  I  see.  An'  my  men  is  attendin  to  some  pigs  o' 
yourn.  Walk  out,  old  'coon." 

Peters's  scouts  were  destroying  all  that  was  left  of  the 
mountain  still. 

"  Whar's  the  others  ?"  asked  one  of  the  men. 

"  I  run  this  here  still  all  by  myself,"  said  Jack,  with  an  air 
of  ingenuous  pride. 

"What  a  lie!"  said  the  captain.  "Have  you  cut  his  copper 
boiler,  boys  ?" 

"Tain't  here. 

"Whar's  your  copper,  Jack?" 

"  Gone  to  heaven,"  said  Jack,  rolling  his  eyes. 

"You  can't  make  anything  out  o'  Jack  Boddy,"  said  a 
scout,  grinning. 

"Well,  I've  got  you,  anyhow,"  cried  the  captain. 

"An'  the  oldest  one  in  the  business,  Jim." 

"  An'  I'll  ketch  the  rest  in  time.  Come  on,  boys.  We'll 
stop  at  the  widder  Hicks's  to-night.  Can  your  mother  put  us 
up,  Sissy  ?" 

"  Dunno,"  said  Sincerity. 

"  Mighty  know-nothin'  all  of  a  sudden."  And  turning  to 
Selden:  "You're  a  stranger,  I  see,  mister.  On  the  cirkit  ?" 

"  Not  at  all ;  only  a  traveller.  Climbed  the  Window  Cliff, 
and  stumbled  over  here." 

"'F  you'd  been  in  these  parts  a  year  or  so  ago,"  said  an  old 
man,  relieving  his  mouth  of  the  white  whiskers  he  was  chew- 


JACK  AND    THE  MOUNTAIN  PINK.  183 

ing,  "  you'd  'a  seen  a  sight  o'  stills.  They  were  thick  as  wee 
vils  in  flour.  But  a  man  of  might  arose  in  the  land,  and  he 
cleared  'em  out." 

"  Peters,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Yessir — James  Cook  Peters,  whose  name  ought  to  be 
Gideon,  the  Sword  of  the  Lord ;  formerly  an  ignorant  black 
smith  of  Tipper  County,  but  advanced,  by  the  grace  of  God 
an'  the  app'intment  of  gov'ment,  to  bust  wild-cat  stills,  an' 
flood  the  earth  with  hot  whiskey  a-steamin'  from  the  vats." 

"  Any — er — murderin'  involved  in  the  blacksmithin'  trade  ?" 
inquired  Jack  Boddy,  with  a  casual  air  of  interest. 

Captain  Peters  turned  an  angry  red,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Becaze,"  continued  the  artless  old  man,  "it's  a  pretty 
bloody  business  you've  took  up  now.  How  many  men  have 
you  killed  ?  Five,  I  b'lieve,  with  your  own  hand,  an'  twenty- 
one  with  yer  men." 

"  It  wuz  a  fair  fight,"  said  the  captain.  "  I  killed  'em  hon 
orable,  an'  wuz  acquitted  by  the  laws  o'  my  country." 

"  And  though  their  numbers  should  be  seventy  times 
seven,"  said  the  white-haired  satellite  of  the  captain,  "  and 
the  land  run  with  blood,  this  thing  has  got  to  be  put  a  stop 
to." 

"  Look  a-here,  James  Riggs,"  said  Jack,  "  this  here  moon- 
shinifi'  is  jest  like  a  wriggle-worm.  Don't  you  know,  how 
soever  many  pieces  you  chop  'em  into,  a  fresh  head  '11  grow, 
an'  a  new  worm  swim  away  ?  Tell  you,  you  can't  stop  moon- 
shinin'  's  long's  there's  an  honest  man  in  Old  Hickory's  State." 

"  The  Lord  commanded,  and  the  sun  stood  still,"  said 
James  Riggs;  " 'twon't  be  no  harder  job  'n  that." 


184  DIALECT   TALES. 

As  they  talked  they  were  descending  the  mountain.  The 
noble  Jack,  alas !  was  handcuffed  and  guarded  between  two 
men.  From  time  to  time  he  scratched  his  head  against  the 
end  of  a  rifle  that  was  nearer  his  ear  than  some  men  would 
have  liked.  Evidently,  though  open  to  reproach,  Mr.  Boddy 
was  a  knight  without  fear. 

The  widow  Hicks  manifested  no  surprise  at  the  coming 
of  her  guests.  They  found  her  with  her  hands  plunged  into 
a  great  tray  of  meal  and  water — enough  to  make  hoe-cake  for 
a  regiment. 

"  Hurry  up  with  supper,  old  woman,"  said  Captain  Peters. 
"  I'm  dead  tired.  I  rid  all  last  night,  an'  ain't  slept  for  three 
nights  runnin'." 

At  supper  he  could  hardly  keep  his  eyes  open. 

"I'll  turn  in  right  off,"  he  said. 

There  were  some  preliminaries  to  be  gone  through  with — 
not  of  prayers  or  undressing,  however.  The  captain  eyed  his 
prisoner  thoughtfully,  and  remarked,  "  B'lieve  they  call  you 
Slippery  Jack  ?" 

"  I  am  kind  of  hard  to  hold,"  said  Mr.  Boddy,  with  a  modest 
twinkle. 

"  So !" 

Another  moment,  and  Jack  was  tightly  bound  by  a  stout 
rope  around  the  captain's  own  body.  "  I  reckon  you  don't  git 
away  to-night." 

"Dunno!"  said  Jack. 

The  cabin  had  two  rooms.  In  one  the  widow,  Sincerity, 
and  Mr.  James  Riggs  went  to  bed.  Mr.  Boddy  and  the  captain 
occupied  the  one  bed  in  the  other.  A  third  of  it  was  offered 


JACK  AND    THE  MOUNTAIN  PINK.  185 

young  Selden,  but  he  preferred  a  blanket  and  the  floor.  The 
scouts  were  divided,  and  guarded  doors  and  windows. 

Young  Selden  could  not  sleep.  The  wild  novelty  of  the 
situation  excited  him,  and  his  aching  limbs  made  him  toss  un 
easily.  A  little  fire  smouldered  on  the  hearth,  and  big,  shape 
less  shadows  clutched  at  each  other  in  the  corners.  Plenty  of 
sounds  broke  the  silence.  The  captain,  happy  in  having  made 
a  Siamese  twin  of  Slippery  Jack,  snored  as  if  he  \vere  choking 
to  death.  The  guards  talked  and  jested  roughly.  A  whip- 
poor-will's  three  wild  notes  sounded  just  above  the  roof.  He 
wondered  if  Jack  was  asleep.  No;  there  was  a  slight  alert 
movement  of  his  body,  and  young  Selden  caught  the  gleam  of 
a  wild  blue*  eye  under  a  shaggy  eyebrow.  With  perceptions 
sharpened,  intensified,  Selden  waited  for  he  knew  not  what. 
Mr.  Boddy's  eye  rolled  upward — and  what !  a  wilder,  brighter 
eye,  a  star,  shone  with  answering  ray  through  a  crevice  in  the 
roof.  The  crevice  widened ;  other  stars  stole  in  sight.  Selden 
felt  as  if  his  senses  were  leaving  him.  Now  the  crevice  was 
obscured ;  and  now  something  shining,  glimmering,  and  cold 
as  the  light  of  eye  or  star,  protruded  itself  cautiously  as  peep 
ing  mouse  through  the  hole  in  the  roof.  It  was  the  point  of 
an  open  knife. 

Selden  almost  sprang  to  his  feet.  Was  he  to  witness 
murder?  But  somehow  he  trusted  Jack  Boddy  —  and  he 
waited. 

The  knife  was  affixed  to  a  knotted  rope.  It  soon  dangled 
within  reach  of  Mr.  Boddy's  hand.  And  the  sly  moonshiner, 
with  a  silent  grin  at  the  sleeping  captain,  cut  the  ropes  that 
bound  them  together.  Then  hand  over  hand,  lightly  as  a 


186  DIALECT   TALES, 

sailor,  he  climbed  the   rope,  slipped  through  the   opening,  and 

was  gone, 

"  Over  the  hills,  and  far  away." 

Young  Selden  wanted  to  shout.  But  he  contented  himself 
with  a  quiet  chuckle,  and  went  to  sleep. 

He  was  awakened  in  the  morning  by  blue-blaze  swearing. 
The  captain  was  foaming  at  the  mouth,  James  Riggs  was 
wiping  his  eyes  with  a  spotted  handkerchief,  and  the  scouts 
were  swearing  by  all  that  was  blessed  or  damned  that  they 
had  not  closed  their  eyes. 

"How  is  it  with  you,  stranger?"  said  Captain  Peters.  "Did 
you  see  or  hear  anything?" 

"  Oh  no.  I  slept  straight  through,"  said  young  Selden, 
with  that  cheerful  readiness  to  lie  that  comes  to  great  souls. 

"  Well,  the  devil  must  'a  helped  him." 

"  Lor,  boys,"  said  the  widow  Hicks,  with  a  slight  twitch  at 
the  corners  of- her  mouth,  "you  know  Jack  Boddy  is  a  powerful 
cunnin'  man — slippery  as  an  eel." 

"Jest  let  me  get  these  hands  on  him  once  more — jes'  once 
more !" 

"  S'pose  you'd  kill  him,  wouldn't  you  ?"  said  the  widow, 
sweetly.  "  Lor,  now,  I  s'pose  you  don't  make  no  more  of 
killin'  a  man  'n  I  do 'of  wringin'  a  chicken's  neck?" 

"  Don't  excite  him,"  implored  James  Riggs ;  "  he's  powerful 
plagued  over  this  misfortune." 

"  Come  to  breakfast,"  said  the  widow.  "  I  won't  make  no 
laughin'-stawk  of  him  'f  I  can  help  it." 

"  Damnation !"  said  the  captain. 

As  for  Sincerity  Hicks,  she  looked  as  stolid  as   a  wooden 


JACK  AND   THE  MOUNTAIN  PINK.  187 

Indian.  Selden  pressed  some  money  in  her  hand  at  parting, 
and  whispered,  "  My  dear  girl,  I  was  delighted ;  you  climb  like 
a  cat." 

"  Guess  this  '11  be  good  for  some  blue  beads,"  she  said,  with 
out  moving  a  muscle;  "I've  been  a-wantin'  some  a  right  smart 
while." 


A    MOUNTAIN    PINK  !" 


Young  Selden  shook  with  silent  laughter  as  he  strode 
away. 

"  A  mountain  pink !"  he  murmured.  "  Oh  no,  a  bean  stalk 
— a  Cumberland  bean  stalk." 


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THE  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES.  By.  RICHARD  MALCOLM  JOHNSTON. 
4to,  Paper,  25  cents. 

A  YEAR  OF  WRECK.  A  True  Story.  By  a  Victim.  12mo,  Cloth, 
$1  25 ;  Paper,  90  cents. 

MISS  RAVENEL'S  CONVERSION.  Miss  Ravenel's  Conversion  from 
Secession  to  Loyalty.  A  Novel.  By  J.  W.  DE  FOREST.  12mo, 
Cloth,  $1  50. 

PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

HARPER  AND  BROTHERS  will  send  any  of  the  foregoing  works  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any 
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/I    O  rr 


=RKELEY  LIBRARIES 


